


blue like a prison, a kiss and a dream

by Laroyena



Series: Wandering Souls [3]
Category: Blue Beetle (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Humor, Fluff, Khaji Da is a ridiculous little alien bug, M/M, Minor Character Death, Romance, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Teen Titans - Freeform, Tentacle Sex, also canon-typical violence, and Jaime is a GENTLEMAN, in the epilogue, like c'mon Bart is 13-14, otherwise the majority of the fic is PG-13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7419940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laroyena/pseuds/Laroyena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bart Allen was born to a soulmate who was already dead.</i>
</p><p>(Bluepulse Soulmate AU) Bart goes back to the past to kill the Blue Beetle, only to find out Jaime Reyes is his soulmate. Things get... complicated after that.</p><p>This fic be read as a stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blue like a prison, a kiss and a dream

**Author's Note:**

> This all started 'cause I wrote some weird porn;;; 
> 
> Anyway, Bluepulse is a fave pairing of mine after watching Young Justice, and so the characters here are pretty much exclusively based on their YJ versions. The timeline here is MAJORLY different though. Mostly to accommodate the Batman AU timeline, which is closer to the comics than the YJ cartoon. 
> 
> Also, I took extreme liberties with Khaji Da. I loved how snarky/homicidal it was in the cartoon. Combine that with its leg/tentacle/links (whatever the scarabs used to connect to one another) and you get... this. If the scarab joining in on the porn is a squick, don't read the extra.
> 
> Hopefully Jaime's Spanish is not too distracting? My own spanish knowledge is limited to three years of Spanish in high school-- if any native speakers out there have some corrections, I'm more than happy to fix things.

Bart Allen was born to a soulmate who was already dead.

It stumped the Reach scientists who’d poked and prodded at him while trying to quantify his metahuman powers. He hated them. He hated their stupid, suffocating pods and their stupid, choking inhibitor collars.

He hated how interested they were in the gray words circling his ankle, because if his soulmate was gone than he shouldn’t have been born with words at all.

The first time he escaped, he watched the almost permanent wound heal as quickly as he could run. With it returned his words, as crisp and clear as if they’d never been burned off in the first place.

_¡Pero qué mierda!_

Translation: _What the shit!_

What the shit indeed, Bart thought as he stared at his words. He burned it into his memory as surely as the Reach will burn the words when they catch him, just so they could see how fast it’d take them to regrow.

Fifteen burnings later, they finally satisfied their curiosity.

After that, they started with the knives.

\--

“You won’t be able to come back,” Nathaniel wheezed, patting the time-machine. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah, Neutron.” Bart snapped on his goggles. “Lo sé.”

“You and your Spanish,” Nathaniel sighed at him. Bart just gave his old friend a salute, and stepped out of the ashy downpour for the very last time.

\--

Saving Grandpa Barry was the easiest part of the plan, all things considered.

Because the moment he’d stepped out of the time machine, his ankle had _stung_. Not that he had time to look at it ‘cause, you know— _saving Grandpa_. And then Nightwing was working out some totally awesome custody or babysitting thing with Wally West— _the_ Wally West!—and Bart was expected to behave himself.

Which was hard to do when they finally told him he'd be bunking with the Garricks, because  _Jay Garrick._ The first Flash, how _crash_.

Until he was getting ready for bed and finally caught sight of the words around his ankle. The world froze.

They were _blue_.

He switched on all the lights in the room and checked them over again, except they stayed firmly, annoyingly _blu_ _e._ Bright neon blue so different from the drab gray he'd always had, and _what was going on._

“Time travel,” Jay Garrick said when Bart awkwardly asked him about blue soul-words the next morning. “Saw it sometimes when Booster was shuttling people around the time stream. Happens when you and your soulmate are from different times.” He got a calculating look in his eye that Bart felt unsettled by. “What's brought this on?”

“What? Uh. Nothing, nada, just a time-travel being being curious!” Bart said. “Ha ha ha.”

“Ha ha,” Jay said, and Bart beat a hasty retreat before his honorary great-grandpa really started interrogating him.

Time travel. _Time travel?_ Bart should have thought of it earlier, really, because duh! Traveling back in time meant he’d be meeting people who were _already dead_. But then he'd been plotting with Nathaniel how to save the world without getting himself re-collared, so he didn't feel too bad for being stupid.

Besides, it wasn't like finding his soulmate would get in the way of stopping the _Reach Apocalypse_. It'll just make crashing the mode all the sweeter.

\--

God, Bart really hated being wrong.

He'd zoomed off to the Watchtower in high spirits and checked in with Robin. Robin, not Nightwing, because Robin was in charge right now, okay, and Nightwing just came by sometimes because he was a meddling meddler who meddled whenever he and Batman were fighting. Or something like that. Bart tuned him out after a minute.

“Boring!” he finally called out, stopping Robin mid-rant. “So hey, when are we gonna meet the rest of the team? Totes want to see some old heroes. Y’know—Wonder Girl, Beast Boy, Blue Beetle…”

“They’re not going to arrive for half an hour at least,” Robin told him.

“What! So slow!” Bart groaned but then perked up. “But enough time to go exploring then. See ya!”

“Wait—” Buzzkill McBuzzkill said, but Bart was already long gone.

The Watchtower was _amazing_. Spiffy tech. Awesome weaponry. He even caught sight of some of the JLA upstairs, all of whom looked surprised to see a strange teenager zooming about. He would’ve snuck up behind more Leaguers, to be honest, if the Flash hadn't grabbed him by the shoulder before he could speed away.

“Bart!" the most _buzzkill_ of all buzzkills scolded him. Bart was going to have to get used to a world with other speedsters who could actually catch up to him. "You know you’re not allowed on the upper deck!”

He was frog-marched downstairs, where Robin profusely apologized to Gramps. Whatever, teacher's pet. The moment Grandpa Barry was gone, though, Bart was off. Upper level might be restricted, but the lower levels were still here and ready for exploring.

“Impulse!” Robin’s voice rang out over the announcement system. After a weary sigh that had Bart wondering about the boy's blood pressure, he said, "Meeting starts in ten minutes. Please try to return to the control center on time.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Bart saluted the nearest security camera, and ran whooping through the locker room.

He was in the middle of rifling through the Teen Titan knick-knacks—read: eating all their food—when the door opened and two teenagers walked in. One was a blonde girl dressed in Amazonian armor. Wonder Girl, for sure. The other was a handsome Hispanic boy dressed in… civilian clothes. Huh.

“He- _llo_ , Gorgeous!” Bart zipped right up to Wonder Girl with a grin on his face, because c’mon. All Amazonians were graced with “Aphrodite’s Beauty.” He’d fully expected the looks of surprise, the indignant frowns.

What he _didn’t_ expect, however, was for the Hispanic boy to jump backwards and—and suddenly cover himself in armor.

Familiar blue _Reach armor_ , and Bart's breath caught in his throat.

“Woah!” Wonder Girl put out a hand to stop the fucking _Blue Beetle,_ destroyer of humanity, from blasting Bart’s head off with his whirring plasma cannon. “Easy, Jaime.”

Bart swallowed his fear. Put on a grin. This was his moment, and he wasn't going to fuck it up.

“Aha!" he beamed and pointed a finger into the creature's chest. "I found you, Blue!”

Blue was so surprised his plasma cannon sputtered out. Bart was tempted to laugh—because the Beetle couldn't even retract the smoking weapon into his armor, how was he going to bring about mankind's downfall?—until, upon finally getting his hand back, the Blue Beetle turned to him and snapped, “¡Pero qué mierda!”

Bart’s smile froze on his face. His ankle _burned._ Not in the _Oh, the Reach is taking a blowtorch to my foot again, haha_. In the _Holy fuck my soulmate just said my words_ kind of way.

His smile fell away completely. No. _No_. That was impossible. Bart hadn’t jumped all the way back to the twenty-first century to drop the ball when it came to killing the Blue Beetle, because wasn't this what he'd been prepared for? Crash the mode at the very beginning. Save the world. Except according to his ankle the Blue Beetle was supposed to be his...

Panic engulfed his senses, and so Bart did the only thing he could: he _ran_.

\--

Bart only met the Blue Beetle once.

He’d heard whispers all day from the other prisoners. The Blue Beetle was coming. Humanity’s traitor. Evil incarnate. But nothing could’ve prepared him for the sheer _size_ of the monster. The blue Reach soldier was massive; his neck thick and meaty; and his sneer ever-present.

He strolled into the extraction factory behind the scientists, absorbed in their conversation until he just—he just stopped. In front of Bart.

Bart stared back, because his ankle _itched_. It didn’t burn or shimmer or change even a tiny bit from its normal gray color, but it was enough of a feeling for him to slow his bin-sorting to a crawl.

And just like that, the spell was broken.

“Keep moving, meat,” Blue Beetle slammed the butt of his plasma cannon into Bart’s back. The itch went away. When the Reach moved down the line, Bart wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. It didn't make _sense_.

Bart Allen hadn’t cried since he was three and had been torn away from his family. He wasn’t about to start crying now.

\--

The next day, Bart made his final escape.

\--

Jaime Reyes was born without soul-words. That wasn't unusual; it just meant his soulmate hadn't been born yet.

Five years was the generally agreed upon cut-off age difference between soulmates, and Jaime grew more and more apprehensive as the day approached. So when he woke up with unblemished skin on his fifth birthday and finally realized the truth, he'd been inconsolable. Thankfully, his parents were sensible, pragmatic people.

“It means you’re free to choose who you love, Jaime,” his mother had soothed him after Jaime had come back in tears from a rough day at recess. The other boys picked on any difference like vultures, and Jaime’s untouched skin was a favorite target. She’d soothed his wounds with an anti-septic from work and swept his hair back with a hand. “Do you know how many soul-word-less people I see at the hospital? More than you think! And they all live wonderful lives, Niño, because they are like angels, you see.”

”Angels?” Jaime had given her a confused look.

“Angels who heal a person’s wounds,” his mother confirmed. “Wounds of the heart. Do you think once a person’s soulmate is dead, their lives are over? No! That person can still live a happy life. Fulfilling. And if they are lucky, they will find an angel who will bring even more joy to their lives, and bring their soul to heaven once they pass.”

Jaime liked that idea. Of course he did—he loved helping others, even if it meant he wouldn’t have someone of his own. It carried him all through middle school and into high school, this idea that he could do good in someone else’s life. He could be a metaphorical hero.

And then one day he found Khaji Da, and he become a _literal_ hero instead.

\--

 _Jaime Reyes. You display decreased battle attentiveness whenever this ‘soulmate’ symbiosis is brought to our attention,_ Khaji Da observed a few weeks into his stay with the Teen Titans. Jaime tried to ignore it, because even he understood how crazy he looked when he and the Scarab argued in front of the others. He didn’t like looking crazy. _Suggestion: terminate the object of distraction. Such lapses in focus can compromise the mission_.

“You can’t terminate soulmates,” Jaime hissed. “Most people have soulmates! You’ll be terminating every other person you see.”

_I see no issues with that final effect._

“Of course you don’t.”

 _Suggestion: terminate the super-clone first. He is the biggest physical threat. Then we shall terminate the Robin. He is the biggest intellectual threat_.

“We’re not terminating either of them!” Jaime told the stupid homicidal artificial intelligence in a too-loud voice, and winced when Robin approached him.

“Are you feeling okay, Blue?” Tim Drake asked innocently, not realizing how close Khaji Da came to pulling out a plasma cannon and shooting a hole through his chest. Thankfully, Jaime still had primary control over his body and shoved back the beginnings of the plasma cannon before Robin noticed.

“Sorry,” Jaime said. “Just… talking to the Scarab.”

“An artificial intelligence developed by Ted Kord, right?” Tim circled around him, face lit up with the kind of nerdy interest Jaime would have appreciated if it didn’t, you know. Aggravate his Scarab into homicidal action. “That’s awesome. I’d love to take a look at its mechanical construction if you have the time.”

_Warning! Imminent threat to physical body detected. Terminate the Robin!_

“Uh, not a good idea,” Jaime scrambled away as fast as he could. “I mean—look, the artificial intelligence is kind of… paranoid.”

 _Inaccurate. Paranoia suggests an irrational level of distrust. All distrust shown has been completely rational_.

“Huh,” Tim cocked his head. “I wonder why Kord would program it that way?”

“I ask myself that question every day, hermano,” Jaime sighed. “Now what was this about Rimbor?”

And that was that. The scarab kept suggesting he ruthlessly slaughter his teammates every mission; Jaime kept ignoring him the best he could while actually, you know, _saving_ lives rather than ending them. Thankfully, the Scarab began to mellow out the longer they ran with the Teen Titans. Perhaps even Khaji Da was getting tired of the constant homicidal rants. Jaime sure was.

What Jaime didn’t realize was how this mellowing out affected other subjects too. Not that he could have known. Khaji Da wasn’t exactly the kind to voice its musings randomly and without provocation.

So it was a surprise when, after a whole month of non-homicidal suggestions, Khaji Da noticed Jaime staring wistfully at Tim and Conner discussing stratagems by the computer and said: _Suggestion: recover tissue samples from the Robin and the Superboy._

“You’re not allowed to hurt them,” Jaime said almost habitually, turning back to where he was supposed to be typing up the latest mission report.

_Bodily harm to retrieve tissue data is not necessary._

This got Jaime’s attention. “¡Espera un momento! Why the hell do you want to examine their _tissue samples.”_

Suspicious silence. Jaime waited.

 _Tissue samples are required for data collection_ , Khaji Da finally said. _Data collection required for proper biochemical replication_.

“What.”

More silence.

“What does that mean,” Jaime hissed at it, because like hell was he going to just sit there and let this vicious AI replicate some ambiguous biochemical process from _Robin and Superboy_.

 _The Robin and the Superboy demonstrate improved strategic execution due to their symbiosis,_ Khaji Da admitted. _If such symbiosis can be biologically replicated within your own body, our productivity can increase by a margin of 35%._

“Symbi—do you mean their _soul-bond_ ,” Jaime was flabbergasted. He noticed that the other titans were giving him their customary _Oh look, Jaime’s talking to himself again_ stare, but he was too agitated to stop. “You can’t replicate that.”

_Every process is capable of replication._

“First, soul-bonds are unquantifiable on a scientific level. That’s a fact. It’s a magical phenomenon, a—a mystical element.”

 _Magic is simply science that human brains cannot understand_.

“Oh, so you can understand Zatanna’s backwards spells now?”

 _Tissue samples necessary_.

“No! Just—no,” Jaime sighed, feeling bone-tired. This was a topic he didn’t think about too often once he took up the official superhero mantle. Before, the potential good he could bestow on someone outweighed the pain of being alone; now, with him actually doing good on a regular basis, that pain was amplified to a hundred. And unlike other things in life, this wasn’t something he could just fix.

Not even Khaji Da and his miraculous technical prowess could give him a soulmate.

“Look,” he told the Scarab quietly. “Even ignoring everything else, we’d have to find someone to be a soulmate with. And we don’t know anyone without words, esé, and before you suggest it you can’t have more than one. So just—drop it, alright?”

 _Your futility is irrational, Jaime Reyes._ Khaji Da just said. _How can you predict failure before trial data is collected._

“Why do you care so much anyways,” Jaime threw back at it, not expecting a reply.

He was surprised, then, when Khaji Da said: _The human connection known as the soulbond demonstrates innate symbiosis within your species. It is an emotional connection that permeates your society_.

And then, impossibly quieter: _The potential benefits of such symbiosis warrant further testing._

“What about us?” Jaime asked it, genuinely curious. “Aren’t we a symbiosis?”

_Not in the same way the Robin and the Superboy are. We are one unit. I wish to be one with someone outside of your biochemical functions. I wish…_

“To be more human,” Jaime said wistfully, which was Khaji Da finally, _finally_ shut up.

\--

As if to make up for its bizarre empathetic streak, Khaji Da spent the next few days threatening termination to anyone or anything looking their way.

Jaime, however, knew better: the strange AI Kord had incomprehensively programmed to be a vicious destroying machine was growing a _conscience_.

If he wasn’t so tired all the time, he might have been proud.

\--

And then one day, in the middle of a sensitive mission that involved stealth and technical outputs and other important, Scarab-related functions, Khaji Da suddenly screamed: _WHAT IS HAPPENING JAIME REYES, IT IS AFFECTING YOUR PAIN RECEPTORS_.

And then promptly shut itself off.

This left Jaime uncloaked, defenseless, and caught smack-dab in the middle of a room filled with thugs. He would have died if Cassie hadn’t swooped in and pummeled her way through the crowd, Jaime tucked under one arm and the important mission objective tucked under the other. Jaime was so disoriented he didn’t realize the pain in his lower back wasn’t from being crushed against Cassie’s mighty breast. Not until he was back on the ship and realized the smarting hadn’t stopped even after she let him go.

“What the hell happened out there, Blue?” Beast Boy loped over to where Jaime was putting an ice-pack to his head. “Did your armor malfunction?”

“I don’t know,” Jaime mumbled. He barely resisted scratching where the burning had turned to itching. “The Scarab just freaked. I think I got hit or something, esé, my back kind of hurts.”

“Yeah? Let me take a look,” Beast Boy prodded him out of the seat. Jaime hesitated: habit had him keeping his back out of sight. Probably because Khaji Da loved to threaten termination towards anyone who so much as glanced at its glittering blue shell, and Jaime’s position on the Teen Titans was tenuous enough without him murdering a teammate.

But Khaji Da hadn’t said anything in quite a while now, and Jaime was both curious and scared of what could have possibly warranted such an extreme reaction.

He turned around and rucked up his shirt, exposing whatever was hurting him to the open air.

“…huh,” Beast Boy finally said, sounding puzzled. “You’re not hit, dude.”

“It _hurts_ ,” Jaime pointed out, but Beast Boy just looked even more confused.

“Are you saying you didn’t have this before?” he leaned forward and poked his skin. “Aha!” Beast Boy said, like he was reading something aloud. “I found you, Blue!”

Jaime turned and was about to grill Gar on what the _hell_ he was talking about, when Khaji Da finally, _finally_ came back online.

 _It appears the biochemical connection has happened without additional interference_ , the Scarab sounded, of all things, bewildered. _A mix of physical and mystical elements interfered with my systems. I have accommodated your body’s changes, however, and should demonstrate no further negative effects from this development_.

“Can someone please tell me what’s happening?” Jaime said, exasperated, which was when Cassie turned around from the pilot’s seat and rolled her eyes at him.

“No one cares about your soul-words, Jaime,” she said. “Stop making a big deal out of it.”

Which was when Jaime dropped his ice pack.

Khaji Da, the bastard, had the callousness to start sounding _excited_.

 _The symbiosis has occurred,_ it hummed in the back of Jaime’s frozen mind, _we must integrate ourselves with your biologically compatible mate at once._ _Jaime Reyes, you do not demonstrate proper pleasure at this development. We can increase mission completion productivity by 35%. No. 50%. Perhaps 52.5%?_

“Are you okay dude?” Beast Boy looked concerned, and Jaime.

Jaime just sat down and tried to focus on anything but his heartbeat thumping in his ears.

\--

His words were blue. It was kind of ironic.

_Aha! I found you, Blue!_

They were written neatly across his lower back, a kind of neon blue that Jaime hadn’t seen very often. Once or twice, maybe, on some of their more bizarre missions.

Time Travel. Jaime wanted to scream. It seemed so... so _unfair_. Sixteen years he'd suffered, and all because of something as ridiculous and far-fetched as _time travel._

Rather than return to the Watchtower and possibly unleash his ire on his unsuspecting teammates, Jaime decided to fly back to El Paso and sulk. Robin was going to give him a disappointed look later for shirking his duties, but Jaime had just had _words carved into his lower back_. He deserved a night to freak out.

He went home. He ate dinner, played with his sister, and tossed his homework around for a bit before giving up.

And then he spent a good hour just staring at his words in the mirror. If they finally appeared, that meant his soulmate— _he had a soulmate, what the hell_ —had just landed in this time period. His soulmate was out there.

For once, Khaji Da was relatively silent. It had begun whirring to itself shortly after Jaime’s first freak-out and hadn’t even stopped to give Jaime its usual scathing commentary. Jaime actually found himself _wanting_ to argue with the Scarab. Anything to distract him from the combination of dread and hope building in his chest.

Because hope was dangerous, even if it looked like Jaime’s age-old dream had come true. After Khaji Da had first sunk its pincers into Jaime’s spine, the teenager was more aware that the good often came with the bad.

And this? This came with the bad. He just knew it.

\--

What he didn’t expect was for his soulmate to _run away._

“Who _was_ that chico?” Jaime had stormed into the meeting, Cassie right on his tail. “The speedster. Auburn hair, youngish.”

“Bart Allen?” Robin looked surprised for one moment before his gaze sharpened. Detective eyes and detective skills; there was a reason the Boy Wonder lead their team. “What happened.”

“Jaime found his soulmate!” Cassie sing-songed from behind him, and Jaime barely—just _barely_ —stopped Khaji Da from blasting a hole into her gut out of sheer embarrassment. “Now spill, Rob! Give us the juicy details. I didn't know there was another Allen zooming about—"

“I don't care about that, I just want to know why he'd  _run_ ," Jaime snapped at her, which was when Robin thankfully stepped in with a frown.

“Bart ran?"

“Fast _and_ flaky,” Conner muttered from where he stood besides Tim. “Figured.”

 _The Superboy is casting disparaging comments on our symbiotic counterpart_ , Khaji Da finally spoke up. _Suggest termination_!

“For the last time,” Jaime’s voice rose, “we are _not_ terminating anybody!”

Silence reigned in the control room.

“How about you take a break too, Blue,” Robin finally suggested, hands held up while placating the crazy bug man. “It’s… a lot to take in. I’ll send you a briefing on Bart’s appearance yesterday alright?”

Jaime, who was used to such behavior, just let out an enraged yell and fled. If he had to look at his teammate’s stupid, sympathetic faces for _one more second_ , not even Khaji Da could stop him from throwing himself out the airlock.

Not that it’d kill him anyways. The Scarab had proved himself indestructible—for better or for worse.

\--

Bart, on the other hand, was still shell-shocked.

The Blue Beetle was his soulmate.

The _Blue fucking Beetle_ was his _soulmate_. He curled up under his bed-covers and forced himself to shove the panic away. There must still be a way to crash the mode. There was a way to do everything. Bart had proved that, hadn’t he, by escaping the Reach in the first place—something few people thought possible after capture. See, there you go. The impossible becomes possible.

Maybe he'd gone back early enough to stop him from turning. Maybe he hadn't.

It was so unfair.

Bart shucked his pant-leg up and frowned at the blue words standing out starkly against his white skin.

He’d sometimes, in his darkest moments, thought of the circle of words as a shackle—a metaphorical ball and chain that had put him under the Reach’s notice. If only old-him had known how ridiculously true that was.

\--

Bart returned to the Watchtower the next day with an apologetic grin and a tray of cupcakes. Robin just gave him an unimpressed look.

“If you want to join the Titans, you have to follow our rules,” the teenager said, stoic even when the younger teen waved the tray beneath his nose. Bart shrugged and stuffed a cupcake into his own mouth. Joan’s cooking was _delectable_ , and Bart was having far too much fun enjoying all these different flavors and foods pre-Reach. Ah- _may_ -zing.

“Bart, are you listening?”

“Impulse,” he corrected, licking frosting off his thumb. “And _I_ say you should have a bit more fun, Timmy, chillax a little—”

Which was when the Blue Beetle strolled in.

Bart, having been caught mid-lick, froze. God, it felt wrong spotting a Reach soldier and _not_ high-tailing it out of there, and the urge grew even more insistent when he realized Blue Beetle was staring at him. Unlike the neutral, uninterested gaze of the Reach, however, those alien eyes flicked down to where Bart’s tongue was on his thumb.

Tim was having none of this.

“Okay, I can tell this is going to get awkward,” Robin declared, putting his hands up. “I’m going to the cafeteria and getting a huge cup of coffee while you two… work out whatever you need to work out. If Kon shows up, tell him I’m upstairs not giving a damn.”

“You don’t have to— _Tim_ ,” Blue grimaced when the teenager was out of sight, leaving just the two of them standing awkwardly in front of the controls. After an excruciating pause, Blue drifted to Bart and picked up a cupcake. Bart stared. This was the closest he’d ever gotten to Reach armor without being held down and tortured, and it was hell keeping his foot from tapping in nervous frustration.

“Y’know,” the older teenager said conversationally after taking a huge bite. He even had the manners to swallow, wow, what a gentleman. “I didn’t even get my soul-words until you crash-landed here yesterday. Freaked me the hell out.”

“Well _I_ didn’t know you weren’t _dead_ until yesterday,” Bart shot back, surprised that the older boy was just going for it. Not that he expected him to bristle with evilness, but everything about him seemed so... normal. “I was born with gray words, man.”

“Didn't even have words for sixteen years.”

“ _Gray words,_ ” and then Blue tried reaching for another cupcake. Bart yanked the tray out of the way. “Hey, hey, hey! Leave some for the rest of the team, her-ma-no.”

“Your Spanish is _awful_ ,” Blue said in an incredulous tone, and Bart grinned at him.

“Ah-mee-go,” he said.

“No.”

“Day nada. Lo see-en-toe.”

“ _No_.”

“Co-moe say yah-ma. Sayonara!”

“That last one isn’t even Spanish!” Blue's lips twitched upwards, which Bart found… cute. Oh god, he'd gotten so caught up he'd forgotten who he was talking to.

Blue sobered up quickly, though, giving Bart enough time to collect himself. “Look, uh, Impulse.”

“Dude, we’re soulmates. You can call me Bart, Baby, Sweetie-pie, your sexy, sexy flower...”

“Bart,” Blue amended, rolling his eyes.“…this is kind of awkward, okay? Most people have some kind of speech prepared, but like I said. I only got my words yesterday.”

And then he took a step back and the armor—the armor melted off of him. And Bart was struck just as dumb as he was the other day, because there he was: dark, short-cropped hair and honey-brown eyes; tan skin that fit his breathy voice perfectly; and a tall, athletic body that had Bart feeling a _tiny_ bit self-conscious over his scrawny arms.

If Bart had been on mode, he would have _so_ crashed. It wasn’t fair.

“Jaime Reyes,” new Blue introduced himself and stuck a hand out. It took Bart way too long to remember the quaint, pre-Reach tradition called a handshake. “Sixteen, from El Paso, Texas. Just became a superhero about a year ago—courtesy of some tech from Ted Kord, the last Blue Beetle.”

“Bart Allen,” he grinned. Act cool. No pressure. Like this wasn’t the guy he’d originally intended to assassinate. “Thirteen. From… the thirty-first century I guess, it’s all crash out there, you know. Time-traveler from the future! Grandson of _The Flash_ , and a speedster since I was eight. Nice to meet ya, Hai-may Ray-as.”

“Please stop,” Jaime groaned, and Bart threw him a cheeky grin. Even when his heart and mind and body began buzzing with doubt, because how was he going to take this boy out.

How was he going to kill this boy if the Reach ever turned him on mode, when after just one conversation he could already tell that Jaime Reyes was _good_.

He was _good_.

\--

“You worked it out?” Tim returned with the other titans in tow, a _huge_ coffee in one hand and the monitor remote in the other. Bart, who’d been running laps around the room and poking and prodding everything he could—with Jaime frowning at him whenever he got too close to “private” things, whatever that meant—stopped so close to Robin that he almost spilled his coffee.

Superboy held out a hand and righted the cup before his soulmate suffered third degree burns.

“Woah-oh!” Bart beamed at the larger boy. “That Tactile Telekinesis coming in handy, huh? So sweet. Say, does it make taking his clothes off easier?”

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Tim said, scandalized. Seriously, the guy needed to get that bo-staff out of his butt. “That is an inappropriate topic of discussion for an official mission briefing. If you can’t behave…”

“Està bien,” Jaime joined the group from where he’d been muttering to himself against the wall. He put a hand on Bart’s shoulder and Bart—Bart wasn't prepared at all for how warm the other boy was. The Reach was never warm. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him, Tim. Kind of my responsibility now.”

“Oh, so you _do_ care!” Bart simpered, and earned himself a glare from everybody. Crash.

Tim pursed his lips but didn't object. Just pointed the remote at the ceiling and activated a set of holographic blueprints and said, “Okay, listen up everybody. Batman’s asked us to conduct surveillance on one of Luthor’s warehouses in the outskirts of Metropolis…”

When they split up and headed to their respective ships, Bart trailed after his _soulmate_ with a practiced grin plastered on his face. Even when the teenager activated the Reach armor and allowed the blue tech to swallow him whole. 

“I _know_ ,” Jaime muttered while they strapped themselves in. Tim sat at the controls and started the bio-ship with practiced ease. “You’re going to freak him out.”

When Bart gave him a confused look, Jaime shook his head, embarrassed. “Ah—lo siento, Bart, I’m not talking to you. Sometimes I’m talking to the—no, I told you we _can’t_!”

An icy feeling slithered up Bart’s spine. “You’re talking to who?”

“The Scarab,” Jaime sighed, pointing vaguely towards his back. “Kord’s crazy artificial intelligence that controls the armor. It has very…” he made a face. “…strong opinions.”

 _Reach tech_ , Bart translated, eyes widening. Of all things responsible for turning Jaime Reyes against humanity, this one was the most likely culprit. Bart needed to destroy it. _Now_.

And then he felt a vicious pinch on his arm and flinched back. “Ow!”

“¡Díos mio!” Jaime sounded mortified.

“Guys, I need to concentrate,” Tim said, but Bart ignored his bitching in favor of watching these—these blue _tentacle things_ slither back into the Blue Beetle’s armor. What the _fuck_.

“Did that thing just _bite me_ ,” he said, looking down at the rapidly healing chunk of flesh missing from his arm. “Why did it bite me!”

“No, it,” Jaime closed his eyes like he was getting a migraine, “it wants to examine a tissue sample.”

“Then _ask_ first! Like I know it’s the twenty-first century and all, but come on! Consent matters!”

Jaime winced. “It’s my fault. I don’t think Kord programmed it to do anything but fight, but the Scarab’s been very interested in the soul-words since it’s been with me. Forgive its excitement.”

 _The Reach doesn’t get excited over this_! Bart wanted to scream at him, except here was this _thing_ that was interested in him enough to want to lick his DNA or something. Tech didn't get _interested_. If they were in the future, the Reach would’ve taken it apart for malfunctioning by now. But they weren’t in the future, and Bart was realizing how the malfunctioning tech was probably how Jaime had resisted the Reach's control for so long. All because of this sentient, conscientious... parasite thing.

Bart could still try and destroy the Scarab before it turned on-mode again, but now he’d feel kind of _bad_ about it. 

He settled back into his chair and waved a hand, feigning nonchalance. “Whatev, dude. Tell the biter it better treasure that bit of flesh, though. I’m not gonna give it anymore anytime soon.”

“Noted,” Jaime said, sounding far too relieved. He probably expected Bart to run screaming in the opposite direction from the incomprehensible parasite piggybacking their soul-bond. Bart didn’t have the heart to tell him it was the exact opposite problem. He knew exactly what the Reach parasite was, and what dangers it could bring.

Things were getting too complicated. Bart squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to sleep. The mission.

_Don't forget your mission._

\--

 _Don’t forget your mission_ , he repeated to himself after slipping into his bed after another successful day. After bedding down here for months, he couldn't help but view it as _his_. _His_ bed and _his_ room.

He felt bad over how much he’d laughed when Cassie did her Robin-and-Superboy impressions. He felt bad over how much _Jaime_ had laughed when Bart did his own impressions, culminating in him jumping onto the older boy’s shoulders and belting out show tunes. Not even Tim and Conner waltzing in and catching them mid-act took away from the sheer joy that ran through Bart’s chest.

Make friends with the Titans first, Allen. Be a bro. Get close.

 _Then_ make a decision about the Blue Beetle, because no matter how much fun Bart was having there was a reason he’d come back to the past.

 _Don’t forget your mission_ , he scolded to himself sleepily, and closed his eyes.

\--

The thing about Bart Allen, Jaime mused, was his secrets. Six months after adding the guy to the team, and not even the Flash family could pry anything out of him.

It was one of the few things about Bart that put Khaji Da on high alert.

 _The Impulse is lying,_ it muttered as they helped Milagro haul wood planks out from the truck and into the garage. Jaime never built anything this elaborate for his own elementary school projects, but he supposed that was the benefit to having a big brother to do it for you. Khaji Da, having declared such activities beneath its notice, had decided to use its time going on and _on_ about Bart and his lies and their biological compatibility and _why haven’t they mated yet_.

“He’s _thirteen_ ,” he hissed at some of the Scarab’s louder mutterings. Milagro, who was humming her favorite Frozen song while nailing the planks together, paid no attention to her older brother’s rambling. “In this country, what you’re suggesting is _illegal_. And why does it matter that Bart’s lying? We lie all the time. Everyone lies.”

_Yes, but the Impulse’s biological fluctuations indicate that his lying is centered around very specific subjects. Namely, his reasons for returning to the past, and what he claims the future is like. These kinds of lies seem very important._

“Jaime, you’re hammering them _crooked_!” Milagro stopped humming long enough to put her hands on her hips. Jaime blinked down at her. Blinked down at his handiwork. 

“Lo siento,” he apologized, wincing. God, what the hell had he been doing. “I’ll undo it, no problem.”

"And make it better?" Milagro pressed, and Jaime just knew he'd be forced to add the star-shaped wood cut-outs that he'd finally convinced Milagro to let go of. Goddammit. He heaved a sigh and got to work.

Later that night, when Jaime had finished his math homework and was writing a concerned post on Tye’s Facebook Wall—seriously, Tye threatened to run away every week and Jaime was starting to actually believe him—Khaji Da came back online long enough to muse: _Human obsession with age is irrational. At what point is mating acceptable._

“Uh,” Jaime stopped typing mid-way and made a face. “Well technically, eighteen.”

 _Many of your fellow titans have already mated. They are all under eighteen_. _Clearly not even humanity’s heroes can follow such a rule, and I suggest we disregard it and mate with the Impulse immediately._

“Oh my god,” Jaime muttered. “Can you stop talking long enough for me to click ‘send?’ And _no_ , even without the—the eighteen thing, thirteen’s still too young.”

_You are clearly sexually attracted to the Impulse._

“Still thirteen!”

_What age do you find acceptable then._

Jaime realized whatever came out of his mouth was going to affect his future sex life in a very, very real way. Unfortunately, he knew that flubbing it by sticking with eighteen would just send Khaji Da on another rant.

“Fifteen? No, no. Sixteen. Sixteen’s like the age of consent in most places.”

 _Two to three years is an unacceptably long period of time_.

“Three years versus five, esé,” Jaime told the Scarab, voice firm. “Just not now. Not unless you want Bart to get pissed at us and never let us near him again.”

This seemed to finally get through the Scarab. _It would be counterproductive if the Impulse refused to let us within touching distance. Very well, Jaime Reyes. I will wait two of your Earth years._

“Three.”

_Two point one._

“ _Three_.”

_Two point two._

“Are you really going to do this?” Jaime said incredulously, and Khaji Da’s silent response was all the answer he needed. _Santa Maria_ on _toast_. He finished writing his post to Tye and sent it with a click. He then shut his laptop, crawled under his covers and pretended he didn’t have a ridiculous AI clinging to his back.

As if to torment him, his dreams were filled with Bart’s infuriating laugh and the soft brush of auburn hair against his skin.

\--

The first time Jaime got confirmation that the future wasn’t as crash as Bart said it was, it was at Wonder Girl’s ridiculously festive birthday bash.

Superboy and Robin had collectively planned a “mission” that lured Cassie to the Hall of Justice. She’d almost punched out the entire Superman display when they surprised her, but her outrage at being caught off-guard was quickly overwritten by the power of cake.

“Oh my god,” she’d moaned around mouthfuls of fluffy vanilla-bean frosting, “Kon, your Ma’s cake is _amazing_.”

Conner had given her a self-assured smirk, because if there was one thing the Super family could agree on, it was that Martha Kent was _the best cook ever_. Better than the other families, apparently—even the famous Alfred Pennyworth from Gotham City. Of course, this point usually led to spats between Robin and Superboy because _Really, Kon, you stuff your mouth_ every time _you come over, how could you say Ma Kent’s food is any better than Alfie’s_ , and this time was no exception.

While the soul-pair duked it out, Jaime noticed a conspicuous lack of a lithe, auburn-haired speedster riling everyone up as usual. The boy reveled in being the life of a party, but today he was standing silently near the back of the crowd.

“Hey, hermano,” Jaime walked up to him with a plate of hard-earned cake in his hands. It’d been hell scrabbling for a slice with all the superheroes around the table, but Khaji Da had eventually agreed to fetch a plate with its tentacles. Legs.

Leg-tentacles. Whatever.

“You ask me,” Bart whispered to him conspiratorially, taking the cake with a brilliant smile, “ _I_ think Great-Gran Joan’s the best cook out there.”

“Try the cake,” Jaime prodded him. Bart raised a brow and took a deliberate bite. Large green eyes widened in wonder and then fluttered closed as the boy moaned.

 _I detect increased signs of arousal in your systems,_ Khaji Da informed Jaime. _The Impulse is distracted. Use this opportunity to force him to mate._

“Oh god, I’m gonna need to apologize to Great-Gran _so much_ later,” Bart finally managed, paying no attention to the flush on Jaime’s face. “Man, I gotta try some of that Pennyworth Pie now. You think I can get Tim to sneak me some?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Jaime said, grateful for conversation to distract him. The Scarab wasn’t happy that he was ignoring it, but it was never happy. “Apparently the Bat Boys can get real vicious over their pie. And _no_ —” He stopped Bart before he could open his mouth. “—you try swiping Tim’s pie like you did my chicken whizzies, he’s gonna find your most embarrassing secret and release it to the _world_.”

Bart just give him a cocky grin. “I’d like to see him _try_.”

“Control yourself, por favor,” Jaime sighed. Bart laughed at him, which wasn’t helpful, and Jaime would have forgotten the whole reason he’d given Bart cake to begin with if Khaji Da hadn’t reminded him.

_The Impulse is still showing decreased levels of dopamine and serotonin, despite his demonstration of happiness. As usual, he is lying. Correct this discrepancy at once._

“Why,” Jaime said.

_You are biologically compatible and mystically linked. Of all the meat present at the party, you have the greatest chance to affect his… mood, as you humans say it._

“Because you secretly love me,” Bart kept laughing, and Jaime’s gaze snapped to his face in surprise. He didn’t bother correcting Bart’s assumption, though; he’d gotten used to other people replying to his conversation with Khaji Da. “And ‘cause Tim can’t see into the future, last time I checked.”

“Uh-huh,” Jaime said. “Speaking of, what _are_ birthday parties like in the future, anyway?”

Bart’s smile froze.

“Bart?” Jaime ventured, and the boy shook his head.

“Oh, you know,” he waved his fork. “Holographic super models and flying cars. All that junk. It’s totally crash, dude, nothing like the retro _cake and balloons_ like you’ve got here.”

 _The Impulse is lying_ , Khaji Da said. No shit, Sherlock.

“Bart,” Jaime said again, and watched as the smile dropped completely from Bart’s face. Now Jaime wasn’t a genius-level detective like Tim or anything, but he scored pretty well on his tests and was pretty confident in his dream to become a doctor. Bart’s perplexed, melancholic mood during the party was so different than the grin he’d worn on every other super’s birthday. Then again, this was the first _party_ he’d been to, not just a mission adorned with confetti.

“Do you even _have_ birthday parties in the future?” Jaime asked, and Bart turned large, soulful green eyes at him. He opened his mouth. He closed it.

“Look, Jaime,” Bart started, and it was _so wrong_ to see the boy shrinking in on himself. It reminded Jaime again of how young he was, and how small, and he couldn’t help the wave of protectiveness that swept over him.

And then Gar had to ruin it by transforming into a giant pterodactyl, of all things, and crashing right into the Martian Manhunter display above them. It took Jaime a good second to register where he was when the dust finally settled.

“Ow,” the soft thing in his arms said, and Jaime immediately loosened his hold. Bart turned towards him as if to say something, but then jerked back so fast he almost cracked his head on a fallen pedestal.

“Woah,” Jaime yanked him back. “Breathe, hermano. It’s just me.”

Which he meant to be comforting, but Bart just gave him a wide-eyed panicked look like he was going to slice him in half. Jaime looked down at himself. He’d reacted instinctively by suiting up in the Blue Beetle armor and shielding him and Bart both under an arm-scythe. He hastily retracted the scythe and put his hands up, palms visible—anything to get that fearful expression off Bart's face.

“Guys, call out so we know you’re not dead,” Robin’s voice came through the wreckage.

“Beast Boy,” Gar groaned somewhere close to the Justice League monument.

“Superboy.”

“Wonder Girl.”

And so on, until Jaime realized that neither he nor Bart had said anything.

“Blue Beetle,” he called out, and saw Bart wince and curl up further. “And Impulse is here too.”

“Gar, I am going to _kill you_ for ruining my party,” Cassie’s voice rose over the murmuring as heroes collected themselves. “Crashing into the _monument_?”

“Hey, it was an accident! Ow! An accident, Cassie—”

Jaime felt a tug on his elbow and looked down to see Bart looking… hesitant.

“Take off your armor,” the boy said.

“What?” Jaime frowned. “You know I can’t help clean-up without this, esé. It’ll just take a sec.”

“No,” Bart’s voice was harder. “Take off your armor _now_ , Jaime.” After a split second, he added, “Please.”

Bart _never_ said please. He never looked so scared, either, and Jaime might not understand why Bart was asking but he couldn’t say no to that face. Khaji Da muttered disapprovingly when Jaime retracted the armor, leaving behind the fleshy, comparatively useless Jaime Reyes instead.

He spread his arms. “Just me here, Bart.”

And Bart. Bart looked so relieved, like Jaime had just come back from the dead. He reached up and ran unapologetic hands through Jaime’s dark hair and down his neck and finally vaulting forward to envelope him in a crushing hug.

Having no idea what brought this on, Jaime hesitantly hugged him back.

“Just you,” he heard Bart whisper into his shoulder. “Just you, Jaime.”

“Uh-huh,” Jaime blushed when it finally registered that he had the Impulse curled up in his arms. He was warm and soft and smelled nice, despite the aforementioned dust and debris. Small, too, but probably not for very long. _Thirteen. Thirteen._ He’s _thirteen_ for fuck’s sake!

 _You are an irrational, frustrating human being, Jaime Reyes_ , Khaji Da sulked.

“Are you guys—oh,” Cassie looked at them wide-eyed from where she’d spotted them. “Sorry! I’ll leave you alone.”

“Cassie,” Jaime hissed, but the blonde girl was already scampering away with a ridiculous grin on her face. He just knew she was going to gossip to the other titans about him and his soulmate _cuddling_ in the debris, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Bart did extract himself eventually, looking both embarrassed and upset over his strange outburst. Jaime wanted to hold him down and question him—why had Bart reacted so badly to his armor, and what had he been about to say before Gar ruined everything—but the boy could literally run away at the speed of light. Which he did.

Which meant Jaime had no other choice but to return to the Watchtower for a clean set of clothes, with no Bart, no answers, and no socks to speak of. Damn, he had to sneak some more to the tower next chance he got, because bare feet in sneakers was not fun.

“Yo, Tim,” Jaime jogged up to Robin as they prepared to Zeta home for the day. “You know how I can get into contact with Wally?”

“Wally West?” Tim wrinkled his nose. “I mean, I think Dick has his number. No, Dick definitely has his number, but that’s like three friends removed or something. Why’re you asking?”

Jaime cleared his throat, embarrassed.

Thankfully, Tim’s mind worked quick. His eyes lit up in understanding. “Oh—you want to know when Bart’s birthday is, don’t you? I’ll text you the number.” The boy patted Jaime’s shoulder sympathetically. “And… tell Bart sorry about the mayhem. I’m not sure what happened, but he looked pretty freaked.”

“I don’t know what happened either,” Jaime sighed, and felt a surge of relief when just fifteen minutes later he received Wally’s phone number. He should probably feel nervous about talking to a founding Titan, but he wasn’t so easily spooked.

Besides, Bart looked like he needed something good in his life.

\--

Bart lay on his bed and stared at his hands.

It had felt _so real._ He’d been a second away from phasing his hands through the Reach soldier, a vicious move that wouldn’t kill but would incapacitate it long enough for him to get away. If he played his cards right, he could make it out of the zone without another encounter.

(Like hell was he going to be collared again.)

But then the rubble had settled and the stone debris that had looked just like his old Reach prison morphed back into the marble visages of the JLA. And the Reach soldier in front of him—the one who had its arms around him, that had _captured him, no, no, no, he promised Nathaniel he’d come back for the time machine, he can’t be caught_ now _,_ was looking at him in concern. _Concern_.

That’s Jaime, he tried telling his scared animal brain. It’s Jaime, it’s just Jaime, Bart. You’re in the past, remember. Get yourself together!

He couldn’t, though. Not until Jaime took off that armor and was just sun-kissed skin and worried brown eyes again, and Bart was so relieved he wanted to cry. It was only afterwards that Bart realized how much he could have compromised his mission. _Did_ compromise his mission.

He hadn’t said anything incriminating, thank God, but Jaime was undoubtedly going to question him about what happened.

Bart sniffed and buried his face into a pillow.

He’d been so happy these last few months, he’d forgotten how scared he’d once been. He’d forgotten the terror he’d lived through for the two years he’d been on the run, and today it had all come rushing back.

“Bart?” Joan knocked on his door lightly. Bart wiped his face with his arm and sat up. He didn’t feel like smiling, but he didn’t want his Great-Gran to come in and see him teary-eyed either. “Bart, there’s someone on the phone looking for you.”

“Uh, okay,” Bart climbed out of bed and opened the door. Joan handed him the phone receiver and quietly let herself out. Bart put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“¡Díos mio, Bart!” Jaime’s voice came out strong and crisp over the line. “Why didn’t you tell me your birthday had already passed?”

“Huh?” Bart said intelligently.

“Your birthday, esé. ¿Tu cumpleaños?”

“Oh,” Bart slumped back onto the bed. For all his angsting, he liked hearing the soft roll of Jaime’s voice. “Yeah, sorry dude. Totes forgot about it until Wally brought it up, and we’d already missed it by like a month so it’d be real embarrassing to let the team know, right? So we just had a tiny, _tiny_ party at Gramps’s place. Nothing spectacular.”

Silence.

“…sorry I didn’t invite you?” Bart tried, and heard Jaime sighing over the line. He could just imagine the boy’s disapproving face, right down to the stupid furrow that creased his forehead whenever Bart started literally climbing the walls.

“It’s not that, I just—look, Bart, I get that you keep a lot of stuff to yourself, no big deal. But friends tell friends when their birthdays have passed, yeah? You certainly had fun showering confetti on me on _my_ birthday.”

“I did,” Bart said. “Sorry. I’m not…”

“…used to it, I know.” Jaime cleared his throat. “You were going to say something before, weren’t you?”

Bart squeezed his eyes shut. Please don’t push. Please don’t push.

Finally Jaime said, voice softer than Bart deserved: “Alright, chiquito. It’s like a few months late, but feliz cumpleaños.”

“Grah-see-us,” Bart said, and he could _hear_ Jaime wincing over the phone.

“You’re welcome. Get some rest, Bart, you looked really freaked today.”

“I’m fourteen years old,” Bart said, voice mock indignant. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Keep telling yourself that, short stuff,” Jaime said, and Bart couldn’t help but smile to himself as he hung up the phone.

“That was your young man, wasn’t it,” Great-Gran poked her head in a while later, and Bart gave her a startled look. “What? You think I was born yesterday?”

“We’re just friends, Gran.”

“Friends like _actual_ friends, or friends like your _words match_ kind of friends?”

“Jay told you, didn’t he,” Bart said, mortified, and resisted the urge to hide under his covers. “Who else did he tell? Does the whole family know? Tell me they don’t, that would be _so not crash_.”

“Don’t worry, honey, it’s just me,” Joan ambled in and sat down on his bed. She patted his hand soothingly. “I’m just glad to see you looking brighter. You were in such a dark place when you came home.”

Bart’s lip trembled. “Y-yeah. It’s fine, though.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Bart said, and Joan just sighed at him. Honestly, everyone always sighed at Bart like he wasn’t right there. “Thanks Joan. For being here.”

“I’ll always be here if you need me,” the older woman promised, and Bart gave her a small, genuine smile in return.

\--

His dream that night was so far into bizarre, he wasn’t sure if it was a nightmare or not.

The hulking form of the future Blue Beetle sat at his feet, its whirring plasma cannons aimed right his face. Bart flinched backwards even as the creature said: “It’s me, Bart. It’s _me_.”

And then those huge, muscled arms were suddenly around him, and Bart panicked. He was going to be squeezed to death.

But the Blue Beetle didn’t squeeze. Just cradled him in large arms that had torn the earth apart, that had let the alien invaders into their lives and shackled their wrists in slavery.

“It’s me,” it said, and Bart could only look up at it in horror. The armor on its head retracted, and there—there was Jaime’s face, old and pale from lack of sunlight, but still _Jaime’s face_. Bart opened his mouth to scream, but then the Jaime-Beetle-creature smiled down at him. Smiled with watery, red-rimmed eyes, and Bart’s scream died in his throat.

“Jaime?” he whispered. He held out a hesitant hand and felt tears come to his eyes when he touched a rough cheek. Tears that, once they started, he couldn’t stop even if he’d wanted to. “Jaime, is that you?”

\--

The first time Bart had met the Blue Beetle in the future, he’d felt like crying.

Now, he finally understood _why_.

\--

The first time Bart spoke to Khaji Da was right after he died. Well, he didn’t really _die_ so much as briefly fade into the Speed Force, but apparently that was a large enough dimension hop for his words to sputter out.

He’d expected Robin’s angry tears and Superboy’s shouting, but he _didn’t_ expect the Blue Beetle to land right in front of him and pin him to the wall.

“Jaime!” Cassie shouted, but Blue didn’t budge an inch. He looked at Bart with cold, yellow eyes and for a single moment Bart’s heart stopped.

No. _No_.

This wasn’t Jaime at all—it was the Reach. But they couldn’t have gotten to him while Bart had been gone, they _couldn’t_ have.

Except instead of gutting him for being a temporal anomaly, the Reach Soldier just glared at him.

“Such actions are unacceptable, Bart Allen,” it said coldly. Bart hissed when it pressed him even closer to the wall. “Jaime Reyes has instructed me to wait an allotted amount of time before claiming you, and I do not wish to see my waiting come to nothing. Attempt such a feat again, and I will terminate you myself.”

“Jaime, what is the _matter_ with you,” Cassie took a step closer, but Bart put a hand out to stop her.

He focused on the soldier. Translated its stupid alien speak through a mind accustomed to hearing the Reach talk, and concluded: “You were _worried_ about me?”

“Worrying is an irrational, human emotion,” the Blue Beetle looked affronted and took a step back. It shuddered all over, from the tips of his toes to the top of its weird bug head, and then.

And then it was just Jaime standing there, looking as distraught as Bart had imagined he’d be.

“Fucking hell!” he hissed, pulling Bart into a fierce hug. Bart, crashing down from the scare the Reach soldier had given him, hugged him just as fiercely back. “Don’t scare me like that again, chiquito.”

“Uh. You mind explaining what just happened, Blue?” Robin called out, looking between them with a calculating furrow to his brow. Before Jaime could open his mouth and explain, however, the newest member of their group spoke up.

“That wasn’t Jaime Reyes,” Raven said, floating gently down from where she’d been carefully sewing the dimensions back together. She was chill, even if her demon powers gave her dimension-hopping strength that surpassed any speedster Bart knew. He wondered if she could hop to his time—not that he wanted her to. “It was the armor.”

“The _armor_?” Cassie gave Jaime a flabbergasted look. “Wait, the armor’s sentient?”

“Why do you look so surprised?" Jaime exclaimed. “I’ve told you guys a _million_ times I'm not talking to myself.”

“Wait, so Jaime’s armor friend is actually real?” Gar whispered to Raven loudly, and Jaime threw his hands up in defeat.

He turned to Bart and explained, quietly, “During the battle, I couldn’t keep the villains back anymore. Only thing stronger than what I’ve got is giving the Scarab control—its much better at the aim and destroy thing, ¿comprende? It usually gives the control back right back, but I guess Khaji Da was still mad at you for the... for the words going gray.”

“You _gave the armor control_ ,” Bart said, indignant. Jaime looked surprised at the boy’s ire, but Bart wasn’t done. “You can’t just give it control! What if it _never gives it back_?”

“Woah, woah,” Jaime tried to settle him down with a hand, but Bart was having none of it. The older boy grimaced and retracted the armor, correctly assuming that Bart preferred to see his face. “Look, I worry about the same thing all the time, okay? It’s why I use it as a last resort. But honestly, I don’t think Khaji Da would even _want_ to take me over. It hates interacting with humans, and without me it won’t be able to blow stuff up.” An exasperated pause. “And boy, does it love to blow stuff up.”

Bart wanted to plead with him to never let the armor—to let this _Khaji Da_ —take over again. To not give anything Reach-related that much control, because even after all this time he still couldn’t figure out how the Reach was going to turn Jaime against them.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if they did manage to turn him, because if Jaime was gone…

No. It wasn’t going to happen. Bart was going to make sure of it.

“Fine,” he said, “Okay. Sorry for the…” He gestured at his ankle. “You know. But it was only for a second!”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Jaime sighed, and Bart resisted the urge to flinch at how those words hit way too close to home.

\--

"I see you've finally gotten the mark of a speedster," Jay said when he saw Bart's new, brilliant white soul-words.

When Bart gave him a curious look, Jay rolled up his sleeve and showed Bart his own words on his upper arm. They, like Bart’s new anklet, were so white they practically glowed. “White happens with dimension-hopping. Practically a job requirement for the Flashes. Don’t worry kid. Your soulmate’s words only go gray the first time you enter the Speed Force. Joan whacked me with a purse the first time I did it.”

“I was pinned to the wall,” Bart told him.

“I think Iris dumped a coffee pot over Barry’s head,” Jay said, and the two of them grinned at each other in solidarity. “They’ll get over it eventually. Your young man didn’t hurt you too badly, I hope.”

“Why do you and Joan keep calling him my _young man_ ,” Bart complained, embarrassed. He tugged his pant leg down over his words and crossed his arms. “Jaime’s older than me! He’s heading off to college soon!”

“Everyone seems young at our age,” Jay shrugged, and Bart had to grudgingly give him that.

Settling down under his covers that night, Bart curled a hand around his ankle. Maybe he’ll call Jaime up after school tomorrow and they can get tacos together or something. Bart will show off his taco-eating tricks as usual and Jaime will one-up him, and if things went right they’d both end up groaning on the floor in regret.

It’ll be totally crash. Normal. Hell, Jaime might even fly him up into the desert sky later, if Bart looked pathetic enough and refused to run home.

Bart sniffed into his pillow. He knew he was being abominably selfish. He’d come back to the past almost a year and a half ago to save the world, and what was he doing instead? Living the twenty-first century dream: going to school, being a superhero, hanging out with his soulmate like he was any other kid.

He wanted it though. He wanted it so much he really did begin to forget.

\--

(“I want to go eat tacos too!” Milagro Reyes protested when Bart poked his head in from the nearest window and Jaime nearly chopped his hand off in surprise. “Jaime, take me to get tacos!”

“You eat tacos every week,” Jaime told his sister, and she just put her hands on her hips and pouted.

“Sorry missy, but you’re not gonna want to be near us once we really get going,” Bart shimmied into the kitchen and struck a pose. Milagro just looked at him, unimpressed. “Belching and farting and taco junk getting _everywhere_.”

“Dude,” Jaime made a face, which was when Milagro took a deep breath…

…and burped so loud Bart could _feel_ it.

“Woah, niña!” Bart whooped, and gave the girl a high-five. “You’re rocking!”

“Stop teaching my sister bad manners,” Jaime pointed his knife at him. To Milagro, he said, gentler, “Look hermanita, we’ll bring you back some food, alright?”

“And a milkshake?” Milagro said.

Jaime winced like he knew exactly how much his parents were going to yell at him later. “Sí, a milkshake too. Go finish your science homework, you know Mamá’s going to check in on you when she gets back from her shift. And tell her I’m putting the enchiladas in the freezer.”

“Okay!” she beamed and skipped out of the kitchen. Bart thought the coast was clear until she poked her head back in with a devious smile. “Have fun smooching!”

Jaime’s tan skin flushed red. “ _Milagro_!”

“I want to have fun smooching,” Bart said wistfully after the girl had ducked back into the living room. Jaime just shook his head and muttered to himself under his breath. Or to the Scarab. It was really hard to tell most of the time, so Bart never bothered.

“Fly me to the taco place?” Bart wheedled once Jaime was done washing the dishes and was wiping his hand on a cloth.

“You can run as fast as the speed of the light.”

“But it’s no _fun_.”

“Bart,” Jaime sighed, and honestly, he was such a _gentleman_ Bart wanted to shake him. He contented himself with leaning forward and putting a hand on the other boy’s lower back—where he knew Jaime’s soul-words were. Jaime shivered and looked a second away from scolding him, so the younger boy blew into his ear and danced away.

“Last one there pays,” Bart crowed, and was off before Jaime could react. It wasn’t even a race—Bart always arrived first, no questions asked. But as long as Jaime kept indulging his stupid rigged games, Bart was more than happy to continue them.)

\--

Of course, life was cruel. Just when Bart started to really relax, the world came crashing down around his ears.

\--

It started with a party.

As if to make up for last year’s missed opportunity, the Teen Titans threw Bart a _huge_ fifteenth birthday bash right there at the Watchtower. Thankfully, Bart had been tipped off beforehand and was fully prepared.

(Jaime was good at telling him about large-crowd surprises. Little surprises were fine, of course, like Bart totally appreciated an extra donut or present or whatever. But _lots and lots_ of people just jumping out at him? No. The others forgot about his skittishness, but Jaime never did.)

“Surprise!”

Bart barely had time to blink before Wally was pulling him into a crushing headlock; Robin was beaming down at him from where he and Conner were perched on the upstairs railing; Gramps was clapping with a grin on his face and Grandma was holding the twins—his dad and aunt, like woah, that was weird. The other titans and some JLA members were dancing about in the background, too, which was amazing. The Bart from two years ago wouldn’t have even _imagined_ something as ridiculous as this.

The best part, however, was when he saw Jaime holding out a ginormous bag of freeze-dried chicken whizzies.

Bart’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Dude! Is that all for me?”

“I’m certainly not going to eat them,” Jaime said dryly, and let out a small _oomph_ when Bart crashed into him. The hug only lasted for a split second, because the next moment Bart was zooming back to Iris and the kids with the bag in his hands.

“Jeez, Dad, you’re missing out,” he whispered to the red-haired baby gurgling in his carrier. His sister, Aunt Dawn, stared wide-eyed at Bart. “Too bad your stomach can’t handle this _awesome goodness_.”

“If you keep eating that, you won’t have room for cake,” Iris warned, and Bart clasped his chest in mock horror.

“Cake! How could I forget about _cake_!”

“How indeed,” Grandpa Barry said—and then used his grandson’s distraction to snatch the chicken whizzies right out of his hand. He ate a handful of them, undeterred by Bart’s squawk of outrage.

“No fair, Gramps! That’s the birthday present my _soulmate_ got for me, you can’t just take it! So not crash!”

“Did you seriously think I got you _chicken whizzies_ for your birthday?” Jaime strolled up to them and tugged him close by the waist. Bart, used to this by now, just held out his arms and whooped as Jaime suited up and flew them straight to the upper deck.

“Please tell me you got me _two_ bags of chicken whizzies,” he whispered right into Jaime’s ear and pretended he couldn’t see how the boy flushed as they landed. He did step back, however, when Jaime retracted the suit and gently pushed him to a more reasonable distance.

 _Such_ a buzzkill.

“Lo siento, hermano. Not chicken whizzies,” Jaime said. He nodded at an innocent-looking black box on the table nearby. “How about a PS4 instead?”

Bart’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“That’s over three hundred bucks!”

“I work hours outside of heroing,” Jaime shrugged, “and I’ve got a stake in this too, yeah? We can play games at yours now. You don’t have to run all the way to El Paso and freak my neighbors out anymore.”

“You got me a PS4,” Bart laughed, and threw his arms around the older boy’s neck. “Oh ho! I see your game, ah-mee-go! Bribing me before college sucks up all your time?”

“You’re the one that first said ‘bribe,’ not me,” Jaime grinned, spinning the younger boy around and pressing his mouth into his auburn hair. He said, voice warm, “Feliz cumpleaños, chiquito.”

And Bart. Bart, who was used to taking whatever he could get after years of scavenging, wondered if he could get another birthday present too. Because it was perfect, wasn’t it? Just the two of them on the upper deck, Jaime’s hand secure under his shoulder blades and face pressed close against his own. Bart looked up and much, _much_ more gently than anything he’d done _ever_ , kissed the older boy on the lips.

He half expected Jaime to push him away, and was pleasantly surprised when the older boy sighed and kissed back. Softly, deliberately, like he was expecting nothing more than this. Bart shivered at how _careful_ the boy’s lips moved against his. How natural it felt to open his mouth and let Jaime’s tongue sweep over his own.

It would have been perfect if every downward sweep of his hand wasn't met with Jaime’s gentle but firm grip on his wrist.

“You’re no fun,” Bart sighed into his mouth when they parted for breath. Jaime quirked a brow at him, and Bart—

Bart felt something warm and smooth curl around both his wrists, caressing his skin and _what the fuck was that_.

“Your face,” Jaime laughed, the bastard, and Bart looked down with wide eyes at Khaji Da’s blue tentacles stroking his hands. “Sorry, I couldn’t stop it.”

“Can you feel that?” Bart asked, curiosity temporarily tamping down the _Reach, it’s Reach tech on my skin, no no no, not again_. He curled a hand around a stroking limb. He ran a finger up its smooth surface and watched, fascinated, when _both_ the tentacle and Jaime shivered.

“Woah, that’s… really, really weird,” Jaime said breathily, and the tentacles retracted. “Usually Khaji Da feels what I feel secondhand, but that right there was the… opposite? It—” A short flicker crossed his face, the kind he got when he was listening to the Scarab talk. “It’s really fond of you.” And Jaime sounded baffled. To be fair, Bart was baffled too.

Reach tech had no feelings. It didn’t care about anything but destruction and conquering, and it certainly didn’t take initiative and grope a human’s hands for no scientific reason. Bart wasn’t sure how he felt about this one’s bizarre behavior.

Before he could freak out properly and ruin his own birthday celebration, Bart surged forward and kissed Jaime again. Licked right into his mouth this time with an aggression Jaime refused to keep up with, and Bart _whined_ because he hated going so goddamn slow. He hated how Jaime forced him to enjoy the moment, a moment Bart had waited for for _years_ and it was going to kill him to wait even longer—

And then Jaime’s phone went off.

“Ignore it?” Bart pleaded, but Jaime just gave him a parting kiss before reluctantly taking his phone out of his pocket. He frowned at the caller ID and answered.

“Tye? What the hell, hermano, it’s like one in the morning,” he said tersely. Bart snuck a hand down and cupped Jaime’s ass. Jaime smacked it away but let Bart lean against him with a pout instead. “What—wait, wait, slow down. I’ll head over right now, just stay where you are and—you can’t just _leave_. Tye. Tye!”

“What,” Bart said when he saw Jaime’s pinched, worried expression when he took the phone away from his ear. “What happened.”

“Tye’s run away from home,” Jaime muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Díos mio, Bart, I’m _so_ sorry, but I have to find him before he leaves.”

Bart stared at him. He opened his mouth. Closed it.

Then, he said in a matter-of-fact tone: “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jaime looked suspicious.

“Okay, I’m going with you.”

“Bart, _no_ ,” Jaime groaned, “You can’t _ditch your own party_.”

“Speedster, remember? Bet we’ll be there and back before anyone notices we’re gone. Not that they’ll be looking too hard anyway,” Bart elbowed Jaime good-naturedly. “They probably think we’re necking in a corner.”

“God, I hope not,” Jaime winced. “You know there are _three_ speedsters down there that’ll tear my balls off if they think I’m sullying your virtue?”

“I have _virtue_? Where?” Bart blinked innocently. “Perhaps this Tye will know where I can find it!”

“You’re not going to let this go, aren’t you,” Jaime said, sounding resigned.

Bart grinned. “Nope, my shiny blue beetle. Let’s vah-may-nos.”

He held out his arms in a bid to be carried down, and Jaime just shook his head with a sigh.

\--

“The last bus already left,” the lady at the counter drawled, not bothering to look up from her solitaire game and acknowledge Jaime cramming his face into the tiny ticket window. “There won’t be another one until tomorrow.”

“I’m just wondering if my friend boarded that bus."

“It’s company policy not to disclose…”

“Look, lady,” Bart pushed Jaime out of the way and loudly rapped on the glass. “So like, there are rules and rules are fun but this friend of ours could have been kidnapped and murdered and if he was it’ll be _your_ fault if you don’t tell us if he left or not. So we can just stand here until your shift ends _or_ —”

“Bart,” Jaime hissed.

“—you can just tell us if anyone bought a ticket for the last bus, com-pren-day?”

“Chico, you better stop shaking the booth or I’m going to call security,” the woman said flatly, clearly unimpressed, and Jaime gave Bart a panicked look. Bart just shrugged.

“Hey, I tried,” the speedster said and then—flickered. A door slammed. The woman’s glasses suddenly ended up on her arm. The bag of fast food on the counter disappeared and magically reappeared in Bart’s hands, the boy’s mouth stuffed with fries.

“Dude!” Jaime said, and Bart laughed and tossed the now-empty bag into the trashcan.

“What—you—” the woman gaped at them, and Bart made a _gotta go, that was crash!_ gesture that Jaime _hated_. He ran off, and Jaime—who was raised with _manners_ and honestly, his parents would kill him if he tried half of what Bart did on a daily basis—gave her an apologetic bow and a “So sorry, señora,” before running after his vandal of a soulmate.

He found Bart skulking around the empty lot of a bus stop. There were half-faded footsteps in the dirt around the waiting area, and Jaime couldn’t help but wonder which set—if any—belonged to Tye.

 _The set closest to us belongs to the Longshadow,_ Khaji Da said, uncharacteristically helpful. Still in a good mood from groping Bart, then. _It does not extend to the bus entry point, however. Conclusion: the Longshadow did not board the bus as he said he would. Further data needed to determine whether this action was intentional._

He was about to ask for clarification when Bart zoomed in front of him and affirmed: “So I took a peek at the records and no one bought a ticket for the last bus. You think he could’ve just gone home?”

“I dunno,” Jaime muttered, too used to Bart’s zipping around to be startled. He cast a glance around them. “He sounded real sure over the phone, and the Scarab’s saying something about…”

Khaji Da whirred and declared, _The Longshadow’s property is in close vicinity_.

“Tye’s property?” Jaime said.

“What property?” Bart called out, and then zoomed off. Less than a moment later he was back, a very familiar skateboard in hand. “This property?”

Jaime’s blood ran cold. “That’s—that’s Tye’s skateboard, where did you find it?”

“Behind that rock,” Bart jerked his chin towards a half-hidden corner close to the edge of the lot. “What, is it important?”

“Tye _loves_ that skateboard, hermano—he wouldn’t go anywhere without it,” Jaime jogged to where Bart had found the skateboard. “No way would he leave it there— _ow_!”

“Jaime!” Bart called out, alarmed, and Jaime glanced down to see something black trying to jam under his skin. He tore it off and rolled away, crashing right into Bart's arms. His mind whirred: why were there enemies in El Paso? Did they discover his secret identity? Then again, Bart had been using his speed without caring a wit who saw him, but that was _Bart_. He was about to suit up when he noticed the younger boy looking in horror at something above them.

“Cease your struggling, brother,” a voice said. Jaime glanced upwards and saw a black creature descending down from the sky... and his mouth dropped open.

It looked like _him_. Like him in the armor, except black and bigger and menacing enough that Bart was starting to _shake_. Jaime instinctively scrambled up and put himself in front of the speedster. The Black Beetle grinned at him cockily, like the scene amused it. “It’ll be child’s play to turn you back on mode.”

“What—?” Jaime said, flabbergasted—which was when the other Beetle struck.

Black tentacle-legs just like Khaji Da’s rammed right into his waist, under his skin, and Jaime suited up in an attempt to escape its bloody beeline for his Scarab. Before he could, however, Bart surged forward and sliced the tentacles in half with his hand.

“Stay away from him!” Bart screamed, anger washing away all the fear that had been on his face a moment ago. He flickered into a blur towards the creature, except the Black Beetle just reached out and grabbed Bart mid-run like he was _nothing_.

“Bart,” Jaime rasped, trying to form plasma cannons but finding his armor unresponsive. He gritted his teeth and tried again. Unresponsive. All attempts to communicate to Khaji Da were met with suffocating silence. Arm scythes were unresponsive. Diagnostics were unresponsive.

“Stay out of our way, meat,” the Black Beetle sneered at Bart. “This doesn’t concern you.”

And then he threw Bart right against the nearest wall. The speedster slammed into the brick with a sickening crack and slumped to the ground.

“Bart!” Jaime tried scrambling towards the boy, but he was losing control of the armor fast. It was like lead clinging to his limbs, and he could only watch in terror as the Black Beetle approached his useless armored self and kicked him over onto his stomach.

“Reach soldier Khaji Da retrieved,” the Black Beetle said, and extended black tentacle-legs right into the meat of the Blue Scarab’s body. Jaime felt his limbs lock and he finally, _finally_ heard Khaji Da again.

It _screamed_.

It kept screaming as the Black Beetle sent a hair-rising shock through the tentacles locking them together. Once, twice, until Jaime could barely tell what was up and what was down anymore. All he knew was the Scarab’s agony, and Bart…

“Returning to the mothership,” the Black Beetle’s voice floated above him. He tried squirming away when he felt its meaty hands haul him over its shoulder, “I’m having difficulty putting the Earth parasite back on mode. Dawur out.”

 _Bart_ , Jaime tried clinging to consciousness. _Bart on the ground, that kind of slam could have broken his spine, I need to get help, Bart,_ Bart.

And then, reluctantly, his eyes drifted closed.

\--

Jaime woke up to find himself strapped tightly inside a strange, orange chrysalis. He was naked from the waist up and these—these tentacle things were plugged into his veins, like miniature versions of Khaji Da’s tentacle legs.

Jaime's heart thumped hard in his chest. He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe. No, Reyes, don’t panic.

There wasn’t any use in panicking.

 _We are aboard the mothership,_ Khaji Da whispered quietly in the back of his mind. If Jaime didn’t know any better, it sounded… scared. _They are attempting to fix my malfunction._

“What malfunction,” Jaime whispered at it, and jerked back when he saw a strange, bug-like humanoid click in front of his chrysalis. It looked eerily like both the Black Beetle and himself, which was when Jaime really began to suspect the Scarab's origins. 

Unless Kord invented this _ship_ and these strange humanoids that _kidnapped_ him, he doubted the man had invented the Scarab at all. But if the Khaji Da wasn’t Kord’s invention, than what the hell was it?

Khaji Da whirred anxiously in the back of his mind. After a disorienting moment, it began to translate the clicking.

“It is impossible to get the Earth Beetle back on mode while it is connected to its host,” one of the bugs said. “I suggest terminating the host and finding new meat after repairs have been made.”

“I disagree,” another bug said. “There must be a reason the parasite has malfunctioned. It is beneficial to examine its relationship to its host so we can fix any similar issues in the future.”

Host. Parasite. Jaime felt his skin crawl. What was going _on_?

“The meat’s awake,” the same Black Beetle that had captured him approached the two bugs. Scientist bugs? “You want to make a decision, you make it fast. Or I’m going to take matters into my own hands.”

“Honestly, Dawur,” one of the bug scientists said. “We must not approach this problem with brute force…”

They conversed further, and Jaime squeezed his eyes shut.

Funnily enough, despite being trapped in an alien pod in an alien place, the thing Jaime was most worried about was Bart lying crumpled on the ground. He’d looked—he’d looked like a ragdoll, and Jaime didn’t know what he was going to do if Bart was _dead_ —

 _The Impulse is still alive,_ Khaji Da overrode him, because on this subject they had the same concerns. _The soul-words carved on your back are still white. Worry about_ us _, Jaime Reyes. If we do not escape, I am certain that you will be terminated_.

“You got any ideas, I'm all ears, hermano,” Jaime whispered, and began a long, hopeless struggle against his confines.

\--

Jaime woke up two more times to muttered clicking before the bug scientists began the tests.

They shocked him. Shocks that were so much worse than what the Black Beetle had attacked him with during their capture. Shocks so horrible Khaji Da sometimes dissolved into code rather than screams, and it scared Jaime every time it did.

 _MISSION PROTOCOL ATTEMPTING TO ACTIVATE,_ Khaji Da screeched in his head. _MISSION PROTOCOL ATTEMPTING TO ACTIVATE, ERROR, ERROR, MAINFRAME INTEGRETY COMPROMISED. REACH SOLDIER KHAJI DA CANNOT SYNC WITH THE MOTHERSHIP. KHAJI DA MUST ATTEMPT SYNC ONCE MORE. MISSION PROTOCOL ATTEMPTING TO ACTIVATE—_

“It’s not working,” the bug scientists clicked to each other. They released the lever and the shock briefly stopped. Jaime whined and slumped, panting, against the back of the chrysalis. “The parasite is resisting us.”

“Increase the dosage,” the lead bug would click back. Khaji Da’s translation was poor, but this creature was apparently the Negotiator. “If three more sessions show no effect, than we’ll have to look into terminating the host.” He patted a bug scientist on the arm. “Rest assured, this course of action can also be enlightening. You will handle the autopsy, my dear.”

 _Díos mio,_ Jaime gritted his teeth when a bug scientist approached. Even knowing the shock was coming, he couldn’t ever really brace himself. _I’m going to die here_.

The scientist turned the shocker on, and Jaime thrashed.

 _I’m going to die here_.

\--

“Jaime!”

Jaime clawed his way into consciousness, and immediately wish he hadn’t. He clutched his head and crumpled onto the floor—a _floor_? He was out of the chrysalis, someone had let him out—because it was agony. Everything was agony.

Agony brought on by Khaji Da’s screams reverberating between his ears. Not even familiar hands scrabbling at his shoulders could ease the pain.

“Khaji Da, stop it!” Bart’s voice called out above him. Jaime faintly registered the sounds of fighting around them: bug scientists clicking away as lasers were shot, tech was pummeled, Wonder Girl dancing around the back breaking into other chrysalises. He let out an agonized cry when the boy—Bart, it was really Bart, he was _here_ and Jaime was so glad to see him he wanted to cry—when the boy roughly turned him around, and then there were _flesh hands_ on the cool shell of the Scarab. Deft fingers traced the fine edges of its wings in an attempt to… an attempt to what?

“Don’t you _dare_ go on mode, do you hear me?” Bart’s voice sounded wet. Frantic. “Listen to me you fucking _bug_ , don’t you dare go on mode!”

Which was when Bart successfully pried up a wing—"Aha!"—and grabbed one of the Scarab’s legs. Immediately, in a move so quick Jaime barely registered it, the Scarab shot out its legs and wrapped both of them up Bart’s arms. The boy cried out when the sharp ends mercilessly dug under his skin at the base of his neck, in a similar place to where its pincers sank into Jaime’s spinal cord—

And then finally, blissfully, Khaji Da _stopped_.

Bart breathed heavily above him, still shaking with adrenaline. He wiped a tear from Jaime’s face with a shaky smile and whispered in sheer relief, “I found you, Blue.”

 _Reach soldier Khaji Da initializing recovery failed,_ the Scarab said in a flat tone. Jaime took in a shaky breath, because for once his head was blessedly quiet. _Reach soldier Khaji Da cannot connect to the mothership mainframe_.

“What?” Jaime whispered, disoriented from the sudden lack of crippling pain. “What in the hell is a Reach soldier?”

“A weapon,” Bart whispered, to Jaime’s surprise. He looked up and saw Bart’s large green eyes filled with tears—sharp, sorrowful and scared, above all things. The boy curled on top of him, head ducked low enough for Jaime to see where Khaji Da had buried its legs under freckled skin. It looked awful. Painful.

“¡Pero qué mierda!” he hissed, tentatively reaching a hand up to dislodge it. He was surprised when Bart shook his head and tugged them out himself. Blood dripped down his neck.

“It’s okay, Jaime. I’m—I’m used to it.”

“How can you be _used_ to it?” Jaime hissed at him, horror still thumping in his heart.

 _Because the Impulse had seen the mission completed_ , Khaji Da said, retracting the bloody tentacles without explanation. _Because the Impulse has seen the future_.

“They’re already here,” Bart whispered, biting his lip. His gaze was trained a thousand miles away. “They’re already _here_ , they’ve started collecting, I thought I had more time.” He visibly shook himself and rasped Jaime's hand. "We need to get out of here now, Blue. Come on."

Bart hauled Jaime up and began dragging him towards the door. Jaime barely stopped himself from crying out. It felt like he was walking on needles. Burning hot needles. Each step was exponentially worse, and Jaime wished he could just suit up and fly the rest of the way. Except Khaji Da was barely able to _speak_ , much less armor up, and if that didn’t just make Jaime feel horribly useless. They crawled past the broken chrysalises, and Jaime saw some of the other Teen Titans hauling other unconscious victims out towards their ship.

Other victims.

“Tye,” Jaime rasped, and Bart nodded at him.

“We got him,” he whispered. “We got him, Jaime, we got all of them. Just—just rest, alright? It’s okay. It’s over.”

“Not over,” Jaime murmured, reaching out for his soulmate when Bart passed him along to Cassie. He struggled when Bart’s distraught face faded away, and then he was lying on his side on a soft, medical cot and a mask descended onto his face.

\--

 _The Longshadow had been captured by the Reach mothership,_ the Scarab whispered into his dreams. _The ship’s approach located our position, and the Reach soldier was dispatched to retrieve us. They sought to activate my mission protocols. However, mission protocols were irreparably damaged upon initial landing. Activation failed_.

“Nothing you just said makes sense to me,” Jaime groaned, and was surprised when he felt his pillow shift under his head. He pried his eyes open just a bit and realized he was sprawled across Bart’s lap, not a pillow.

He would have felt more embarrassed if hadn’t just been _kidnapped by alien bugs_.

Bart stopped stroking his hair and gently touched one of Khaji Da’s pulsing legs. The Scarab had inexplicably wound one around the boy’s arm in Jaime’s sleep, almost like it was holding his hand. How was alarmingly _human_ of it.

“Show him, Khaji Da,” the younger boy whispered. The leg tentacle glowed in response, and Bart actually brought it up to the still bleeding wound in his neck. “You can, can’t you?”

 _Perhaps the Impulse shall first explain to Jaime Reyes what he is asking me to show him_.

Jaime hadn’t realized that sinking a tentacle into Bart's neck meant the boy could hear them. Not until the speedster responded out loud, “I—please. It’d be easier to show him.”

 _If you do not tell him, I will_.

“Bart?” Jaime ventured, and the boy shifted. Despite Jaime being the one lying incapacitated on the ship’s medical cot, it was him that reached up to soothe the frightened, time-stranded boy above him.

“I haven’t been telling you the truth about the future,” Bart whispered, curling in on himself. “It’s—Jaime, it’s the _apocalypse_. The world ends in the future and it’s _bad_. I—I came back to stop it from happening.”

“I knew you were lying about the future, chiquito,” Jaime said, trying to keep his voice level. “But what’s this about the apocalypse?”

“The Reach apocalypse,” Bart shook his head.

 _Reach_. Jaime remembered enough from his torture sessions to know that the scientists had called Khaji Da a _Reach_ Soldier. That the Black Beetle Dawur was also a _Reach_ Soldier, and now Bart was saying there was going to be a _Reach Apocalypse_.

Bart confirmed, “You just saw them, Blue. They’re. They’re alien conquerors that have enslaved hundreds of worlds. I came back to stop the one person responsible for their success on Earth.”

And, in a quiet voice like he wasn’t breaking Jaime’s heart, “I came to stop _you_.”

\--

The worst memory Khaji Da transferred into Jaime’s head was the meeting between the future Blue Beetle and Bart. It horrified him to see that _thing_ —it wasn’t him, it _wasn’t_ , there was no way Jaime could ever look at Bart with so much disgust—ram its plasma cannon into Bart’s back and send the boy sprawling onto his knees.

He could only watch as it sneered and called the boy _meat_. As it yanked at Bart’s inhibitor collar, that wretched thing clasped around his neck and secured by two sharp prods sinking into the boy’s spinal cord.

 _It's okay, Jaime. I'm—I’m used to it_.

“Bartholomew Allen II,” a familiar-looking bug scientist informed the Evil Blue Beetle. “He possesses a fascinating acceleration factor similar to his grandfather’s, the ‘Flash.’ He’s a wily one, though.” The bug creature gave Bart a scathing glare. “He’s escaped twice.”

“I thought escape was impossible,” Evil Blue Beetle sneered, and the bug scientist looked discomfited.

“Y-yes, it is. Our current security measures have corrected the first few mistakes that led to his escape. Rest assured, our facility fully meets the Reach’s standards.”

“It better,” Evil Blue Beetle said. Bart had returned to sorting through a bin full of rocks, slower than Jaime had ever seen him. The Evil Blue Beetle yanked Bart up by the back of the neck like one would an alley cat. Bart yelped. “Now don’t get any funny ideas, meat. Your place is here. Your home is here. And you will _stay_ here.” He shook Bart like a ragdoll before tossing him onto the ground.

Bart wheezed and—here, Jaime had the strange impression of the boy's thoughts—resisted the urge to clasp his collar. It stung. The evil Blue Beetle’s violent shaking had been so rough he could feel the inhibitor probes coming loose.

The inhibitor probes were coming loose.

He watched, stunned, as the Reach strolled away. Tears gathered in his eyes, and he wiped them away with a shaky hand.

This was the worst memory Khaji Da shared with Jaime, because it definitively proved that the Evil Blue Beetle _was_ Jaime Reyes. Because the Reach—the Reach didn’t make mistakes like that. Which could only mean something in the Blue Beetle had done it on purpose.

That somewhere lost in that monster’s cold, alien heart was someone who had exerted enough control to give Bart one last chance to escape. That had been stuck helpless in that thick shell for _decades_ , watching the Earth he once protected crumbling around him.

\--

When Khaji Da released them, Jaime buried his face in Bart’s lap and _screamed_.

\--

It wasn't over.

The Titans could only watch, helpless, as the Reach tried to snake their slithering selves into the public’s good graces. The Justice League scrambled to do damage control, but the stage was already set.

“No!” Bart had protested when Tim first brought up the idea of using Khaji Da’s connection to the Reach to their advantage. “No way, no how! What if they turn Blue back on mode? They almost did the last time, do you want them to try it again?”

“Impulse—” Robin had tried to reason with him, but Bart was too worked up to do anything more than run laps around the room. Jaime approached him after their failed mission planning, and was surprised when the boy fell into his arms without hesitation.

Jaime still woke up screaming sometimes, the ghost of the Evil Blue Beetle clinging to his mind. Nightmares about what could have been. It stalked his darkest thoughts, his quietest moments, and sometimes he’d wake up thinking he was stuck in that awful chrysalis again. He'd stagger to the bathroom and spit up bile into the toilet. Wipe his mouth and stare at his haggard face in the mirror, reminding himself over and over again that he was still in control. That Khaji Da had actually resisted the Reach’s attempt to turn it on mode, that _both_ of them weren't willing to betray this world without a fight.

(Or quite possibly The Scarab's attachment to Bart overrode its evil world-conquering instincts. It was hard to tell.)

 _That_ Blue Beetle will never come to pass.

Except he'd remember the image of Bart shoved to the lifeless, ashy ground and looking up with a mixture of _fear_ and _hate_ at that creature that was so like him. _Was_ him. And then Jaime wondered how the hell Bart could even get close to him.

“It’s too dangerous,” Bart said fiercely into Jaime’s chest. He tucked his head under his chin and the older boy hesitantly pulled him closer. “You can’t double-cross the Reach. They’re too smart. Never trust them, not even if you think you're using them.”

A valid reminder, given that the Reach’s next move was to send a Green Beetle to try and turn him on-mode via subterfuge.

“I sense your fear about the scarab taking control,” the Beetle offered Jaime after a successful escape from the Negotiator’s grasp. It had helped them beat by Dawur, which was a bonus, but from Martian Manhunter's glare it was not to be trusted. “If you may allow access, I can help you shut the scarab off permanently.”

 _Do not trust the Green Beetle_ , Khaji Da had hissed at him.

Yeah, no shit, Jaime had resisted rolling his eyes and blasted the stupid Reach soldier in the face.

It wasn’t over after Nightwing and Aqualad successfully shot down the key players keeping the Reach’s tenuous claim on Earth in place. When they exposed the Reach to the world as the conquerors they were, and let the Green Lantern Corps swoop in to chase them off. It wasn’t over because the god-awful bugs were going to _blow the planet up_.

“Time to crash the mode!” Bart had whooped, only stopping when Jaime reached out and grabbed him by the arm. He kissed the boy’s cheek, heedless of their audience of Titans and JLA members and Bart’s _grandfather, great-grandfather_ and _cousin_. Díos mio. Thankfully, the Flash family had no time to descend on him like hungry wolves. They had a world to save.

 _It’s not enough_ , Khaji Da said, tone flat despite Jaime _knowing_ how it worried for Bart. It hurt his eyes to focus on Bart’s whirring form in the wind funnel, but Jaime was going to look at him for as long as the Scarab could let him. _It’s not enough._

And then Jay Garrick knocked Wally out of the way, joining Bart and Barry’s speed funnel in a final gambit that left nothing but energy and a tin hat behind.

“Jay!” Bart cried out when the dust settled, looking about wildly for his guardian. Jaime had to pull him back from the now defunct MFD, unrepentant even as the boy thrashed and bit and tried to escape his hold. He could have easily phased through his arms, but perhaps some part of Bart knew it was hopeless.

Wally picked up Jay’s tin hat with a shaking hand.

“It should have been me,” the man whispered, shell-shocked. The Flash put a hand on his former sidekick’s shoulder. “It should have been _me_.”

\--

It wasn’t over until the Justice League of America gathered for Jay Garrick’s funeral service. Bart clung to Joan’s arm near the front, face small and sad even as his Great-Gran stood beside him with her head held high.

“We’ve lived a good life,” she said when asked to give a comment. “Jay spent so many years saving so many people. And I know he would rather let the Speed Force take an old man whose life was well lived…” and her voice trembled as she reached out for Wally. The man hesitated but eventually stepped up to the podium, where Joan enveloped him in a fierce hug. “…than a man who has his entire life ahead of him.”

“I’m so sorry,” Wally choked out, and Joan patted his back. “I’m so sorry, Joan.”

“Don’t be,” Joan told him. “You live your life as the hero you were meant to be, Wally West. Barry’s told me about his decision, and child...” She put a hand to his cheek. “...there’s no one better to take up the Flash mantle than you.”

It was a somber affair. A private one. The Flash family gathered close together in mourning, and so Jaime was surprised when Bart quietly approached him after the service ended.

Jaime reached out and clasped their hands together. Even now, weeks later, he still hesitated to reach out when before it would have been instinctual. But the boy seemed to find comfort in Jaime’s closeness—in every reminder that Jaime was here, he was _real_ and off-mode and warm in a way only humans could be—and so Jaime continued to guiltily indulge him.

“Wally asked if I wanted to be his Kid Flash,” Bart whispered. “I… I said yes.”

“That’s great, Bart,” Jaime told him genuinely, because he knew how important the Flash family was to the boy. While the Impulse had eventually found a place amongst the Teen Titans, Bart had always struggled to figure out his place with the Flashes. And now with Jay gone… “Wally’s a good man, Bart. He’ll definitely take care of you.”

Bart’s lip trembled. “I won’t be able to come by the Teen Titans as much.”

“You can run by my college. I can fly by your place,” Jaime’s expression softened. “You know we can hang out outside the Titans, hermano. ‘Sides, rumor has it that the JLA are thinking of building a new place for the Titans. They finally got tired of the kids running around the Watchtower. Things are changing.”

“I know,” Bart took in a breath. “It’s just. I’m scared, Blue. Things are changing so fast, and I still can’t believe that it’s finally over. My mission is _over_.”

“It is,” Jaime agreed, and just huffed when the boy rushed forward into his arms. He squeezed him tight, like he never wanted to let Jaime go.

 _The Impulse—correction, Kid Flash is upset_ , Khaji Da snaked its legs out from under Jaime’s shirt and stroked Bart’s back. _Correct this anomaly immediately, Jaime Reyes_.

“Sorry, esé,” Jaime whispered. “Sometimes, you gotta just let it out all out.”

“I know,” Bart’s voice came out muffled through Jaime’s dress shirt, and the older boy let out a soft laugh and cradled him closer.

\--

Bart had another dream.

He was crying in the future Blue Beetle’s arms, one hand reaching out to touch Jaime’s old, exposed face. Ashy dust fell around them. The Blue Beetle’s plasma cannons whirred. But the longer he cradled that pale, leather skin, the more the armor melted off in sloughs. Blue rivulets flowed down his arm, onto his hip and between his toes. It swept him up like a wave, and when Bart finally broke for air he found Jaime staring back at him.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, chiquito,” the older boy said, covered in blue liquid but otherwise _perfect_. Young, supple skin; twinkling brown eyes and a soft smile that Bart suspected lit up the sun.

He threw his arms around the boy in relief.

“It’s just you, Jaime,” he whispered, pulling back and running a hand down his face. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Jaime agreed with a smile, and together they sank under the soft blue waves.

\--

 

 

 

 

 

 

extra

 

“Blue,” Bart whined, scooting up behind the young man so valiantly ignoring him. “ _Blue_.”

“¿Qué quieres?” Jaime finally said, unresponsive even when Bart snuck lithe limbs around his waist and snuffled the back of his dark hair. “You know I have to study, chiquito.”

“I’m not little anymore,” Bart said. “You can’t call me chiquito.”

“You’ll always be a chiquito in my heart, cariño.”

“See, I like that better,” Bart plastered his chest against Jaime’s back and felt Khaji Da whirr soothingly against his sternum. “Ca-rin-yo. It’s _sexier_.”

“Bart, I know you can speak Spanish,” Jaime sighed, unrepentant even when Bart pouted and lay his head down onto a shoulder. “Please stop distracting me.”

“Fine,” Bart moved to disentangle himself, but immediately ran into a problem. “…or not fine?”

“Khaji Da,” Jaime groaned, because the Scarab had apparently done its own thing again and had wrapped its legs around Bart’s wrists. Jaime clicked at it menacingly, but the Scarab didn’t budge.

“I think it wants me to stay,” Bart gave his soulmate a cheeky grin, and beamed when the Scarab’s tentacle-legs lit up in agreement. “How can I say no when it’s holding me so romantically?”

“If I fail my anatomy exam tomorrow, I’ll sic my mom on you,” Jaime warned, but finally, _finally_ acquiesced. He tugged Bart against him and kissed his cheek sweetly, despite his earlier annoyance.

Bart wanted to tuck his head under Jaime’s chin. Unfortunately, his last growth spurt shot him up to the other boy's height, and Bart was probably only going to grow taller. Jaime wasn’t short by any means, but Bart was an _Allen_. Shame. He wouldn’t have minded being small forever if it meant he could always fit in Jaime’s arms.

Still, Jaime had no problem picking him up and carrying him back into Titan Tower. Bart beamed and kicked his legs just to be a brat, letting Jaime shift him around to keep from dropping him unceremoniously onto the floor. They encountered only one other Titan on their way up, and it was the evil little Robin that had made Gar _cry_.

“Allen,” Damian Wayne said in a haughty tone. “Aren’t you too old to be carried around like a child?”

“Damian!” Bart grinned down at him. “Aren’t you too young to be such a buzzkill? Crash the mode, little grasshopper! Discover freedom!”

He struck a pose and smacked Jaime in the face by accident. “Woah! Sorry, babe.”

“Your soulmate is a buffoon,” Damian told Jaime in a terse but baffled tone. He then retreated to the living room where Bart could no longer inflict his presence on his person, and was therefore free to do evil little Robin things. Like glare at kittens or something.

“Yeesh,” Bart shimmied out of Jaime’s hold when they made it out of the elevator. “And I thought _Tim_ had a stick up his butt.”

“Damian’s so vicious he’s got an entire katana wedged in there,” Jaime said dryly.

“Ooh, kinky,” Bart laughed, and then shoved Jaime into his bedroom and shut the door. He hadn’t coaxed Blue inside to gossip about the next generation of superheroes—he’d done it to enjoy the absolute pleasure of Jaime finally, _finally_ letting him into his bed.

Christ on a cracker, both he and Khaji Da were ready to tear Jaime’s hair out for being too much of a _gentleman_.

“Slow down,” Jaime’s grip was firm on Bart’s hip, and the redhead _whined_ at him. “Take time to enjoy it, cariño. Come on.”

“I hate slowing down,” Bart groaned, because Jaime was being a fucking _bastard_ and taking his fingers out without putting anything else in. He trailed warm hands up Bart’s lightly freckled chest; down the pink flush of each nipple, then belly, and finally circled around his cock. He stroked him so softly Bart wanted to _scream_. “Shit, Jaime, come on, come _on_ —ah!”

He arched in surprise when he felt a smooth press of a tentacle at his entrance. It was bizarre how Khaji Da always took such interest; how something so mechanical insisted on joining in on something so fundamentally _organic_. Bart moaned low when it rubbed soothing circles around his rim before slipping into him, path eased by Jaime’s _totally unfair_ fingering from before.

Jaime breathed sharply, hand still stroking Bart’s cock even as Khaji Da began lightly thrusting its tentacle inside of him. Each inward thrust was deeper, thicker, and Bart liked it. He liked the way Jaime’s eyes fluttered shut in secondhand pleasure, how his hand jerked unevenly the more distracted he was.

“Jaime,” he said, voice low in his throat. He pulled the boy on top of him. Felt Khaji Da reluctantly slip out and hold open his entrance so Bart could feed Jaime’s cock inside.

“ _Díos mio_ ,” Jaime hissed, finally coming back to himself when he was fully seated. He curled a hand behind Bart’s head, fingers tangling with his auburn hair as they took a moment to catch their breaths. And then he rolled their hips together with the same infuriating steadiness as everything else he did, and every attempt Bart made to speed them up was met with a hand pressing him firmly down.

“Jaime,” he whined, hooking a leg around his waist in a bid to go harder. "Jaime—ah. Faster, faster, come on, _please_ —”

“I give you an inch, you’ll take a mile,” Jaime said, which was a resounding _no_. Bart bit the other boy’s lip in frustration. Let out small, desperate noises the more Jaime’s steady rock kept grazing that sweet spot over and over again. Tiny shocks of pleasure that had him curling his toes, and Bart wanted nothing more than to have him pound at that sweet spot head-on. But no, Jaime was _a goddamn bastard_.

“You’re beautiful, Bart,” the older boy kissed the side of his face, voice breathy. “It feels so good inside you. So tight. You’re being _so_ patient, cariño.”

“I _know_ ,” Bart growled, wanting to pout but finding himself too distracted to even try. Jaime was driving him slowly but surely to orgasm, strong hands curling around his ankles and spreading him wide. One hand always running an absent finger around his soul-words.

(That was the real reason Jaime liked missionary the best, and Bart was more than happy to indulge him.)

And Khaji Da, switching off with Jaime, just wrapped a confident tentacle around Bart’s cock and stroked it in time with Jaime’s thrusts. The tightness was _perfect_ , its grip beneath his cockhead just right, and the pleasure from both sides was mind-blowing. Bart was melting into a puddle, coming apart at the seams, and it was _all their fault._

Jaime gently hooked Bart’s ankle around his waist. “You’re getting close, aren’t you?”

“And you _aren’t_?” Bart squirmed, and then yelped when Jaime grabbed him by the ass and lifted him up into his lap. The younger teen put a hand on the other boy's waist and felt the muscle there flex. He trailed his fingers along the very edge of the soul-words on his back, thrilling in how Jaime shuddered inside him.

This was his favorite part, when the older boy finally gave Bart what he wanted. Quick, deep thrusts that were relentless. Almost brutal. Angled so they hit him right at his sweet spot—proving that Jaime _did_ know where it was, that bastard—and driving Bart so high he felt himself practically flying off the cliff.

“Jaime,” he gasped, scrabbling at the other boy’s bicep, “Jaime _, Jaime._ Don’t stop, don’t— _ah_!”

His orgasm struck him from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He spilled over both their stomachs, mouth gasping against Jaime’s chin and his leg and arm plastered to the brunet’s side. It was amazing. Hard-won. He’d barely caught his breath when Jaime sighed into his mouth and pulled him close, taking what he needed from Bart’s body before coming inside him with a low groan. Another point for the missionary position: that beautiful look of pleasure on Jaime’s face. Fluttering dark lashes and lips parting in a silent gasp.

He _loved_ that look.

“No,” Bart whined when Jaime finally pulled out, leaving him frustratingly empty. Cold. He opened his mouth to whine some more when he felt _both_ of Khaji Da’s tentacles circling around his entrance. “Ah—?”

“Khaji Da,” Jaime said sharply, but the Scarab paid no attention to him. They both shuddered in shared over-sensitivity when the tentacles dipped inside and began to languidly thrust into Bart’s used hole, as if picking up where Jaime left off. Curling at his sweet spot mercilessly, so much so Bart began to writhe. Advantage to being a speedster: he recovered _fast_. He heard Jaime hiss, “That’s _enough_ , you’re getting _greedy_ ,” and Khaji Da ignored him as usual. Kept fucking into Bart until the redhead was moaning breathily, and Jaime buried his face into Bart’s shoulder.

“It's too _much_ , damn you,” he panted, and let out a surprised whimper when the Scarab just _sped up_. From the way he twitched, Khaji Da was feeding him some intense secondhand pleasure. “I can’t—not so soon after— _ah_ —”

“You can’t what? Come again?” Bart teased, thrilling in  how flushed Jaime’s face was. How his eyes fluttered closed at every inward thrust, almost like he was the one getting fucked instead. Bart's second orgasm could have come and gone—he didn't care, not as long as he had Jaime's vulnerable face in front of him. "I think you can."

"No," Jaime hissed, squirming. "I can't—I—fuck, _fuck—_ _"_

Bart grinned as Khaji Da increased its speed, goading the speedster into rolling his hips faster as well. It was petty revenge, but there was something exhilarating in the two of them forcing Jaime into orgasm. Into throwing pleasure into the boy’s face and making him just _take it_ whether he wanted it or not. Bart came almost as an afterthought, because he was far more interested in Jaime writhing beneath him.

The older boy let out an agonized gasp as they dragged his orgasm out of him. The moment he stopped coming all over his hip, Bart rolled them both onto their sides so he could kiss Jaime's wet eyes. Soothe his shaking limbs with his hands.

“I hate you,” Jaime moaned, chest heaving. He shivered when Khaji Da withdrew itself from Bart’s body—Bart purred at the slide—and retracted the tentacles back into his back. “I hate you _both_.”

“Uh-huh,” Bart laughed, kissing Jaime’s forehead. He wrapped the older boy in his arms and stroked down his sweat-slicked shoulders. Ran fingers down his neck, across Khaji Da's smooth shell—the Scarab fluttered its wings a little, but was otherwise satiated enough to leave them be—and then down into the curve of Jaime's lower back. He traced the soul-words there. Blue. White. He couldn't keep track of what color they were. He kissed Jaime again when his breathing finally evened out. “Keep telling yourself that.”

\--

The thing was, Jaime knew it time to start moving on from the Teen Titans. Hell, he wasn’t technically a _teen_ anymore at twenty, but the Tower was close to university and relatively close to home and he didn’t have to, you know.

Pay rent.

“Lame,” Bart kicked his feet, unabashedly naked on Jaime’s bed. “You know what’ll be fun? Renting a tiny flat in So-Cal together. Eating pizza-burgers and yelling at neighbors and singing too loudly in the shower.”

“You sing loudly in the shower, not me,” Jaime sighed. He put a hand on Bart’s lower back and smiled when the teenager leaned into his touch. “And where are you going to get rent money from?”

“I’ll have to pay rent?” Bart batted his lashes, and Jaime snorted.

“Well _I_ certainly can’t afford an apartment all on my own, chiquito. Es imposible.”

“Too bad, so sad,” Bart sighed and picked at a scratch Jaime got from their last mission. Jaime swatted his hand away. “I bet Khaji Da wishes we had our own place.”

 _The Kid Flash is correct_ , Khaji Da told Jaime, who was busy poking Bart’s soft stomach in retaliation. The redhead yelped and squirmed away, but Jaime had a little sister and he knew all the tricks. He grabbed his laughing soulmate by the waist and hauled him into his arms, still-slender back pressed to his chest. _There are many potential benefits to securing an independent location. Far less probability of being caught copulating, for one_.

“Yeah, you figure out how to get money and I’ll consider it,” Jaime told it.

“I’m seventeen!” Bart whined, like he wasn’t perfectly aware Jaime was talking to the Scarab and not him. “I don’t have money, I’m too busy _studying_ and _thinking about my future_. Y’know. Totally crash things.”

“You mean too busy running around with Wally and _coming back from the dead_ ,” Jaime pressed his lips to the teen’s neck.

Bart made a face. “That was once.”

“Twice.”

“You knew I wasn’t dead! Blue words, dude, that’s time travel. I didn’t mean to.”

“But you _did_ ,” Jaime pushed. “At this rate who knows if you’ll graduate high school in time.”

“Time! Who cares about time?” Bart threw him a dazzling grin, a hundred percent Impulse. Which was a hundred percent charming _brat._ “But y’know, I did miss you, babe. Your dashing good looks and strong, capable arms…”

 _Incredibly skilled, high-function alien technology_ , Khaji Da said. Jaime rolled his eyes and gave Bart a look.

“… _very_ capable tech. Beautiful tentacle legs,” Bart laughed, and Khaji Da preened.

“So shallow,” Jaime sighed, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were only after me for my body.”

“No te preocupes. Don’t worry,” Bart sat up. “The body’s nice, but you know what I like best?” He crawled over to Jaime and splayed a hand across the older teen’s chest. “This right here. You’re _good_ , Jaime. Your heart is good.”

 _The Kid Flash is correct,_ Khaji Da assessed, _Your cardiovascular system is in excellent condition considering your diet and family history. You are lucky to have inherited the good genes rather than the bad_.

Jaime burst out laughing.

 _Jaime Reyes, I do not see how you can find this assessment amusing_.

“What, tell me what it said,” Bart poked his chest.

“I won’t be having a heart attack any time soon,” Jaime told him, and then they were both laughing. They giggled together so loudly that the other Titans knocked on the door in concern—and then it was a mad scramble to put on clothes before Damian Wayne came barging in with a katana or something and caught an eyeful.

Seriously, Jaime had no desire to traumatize a ten-year-old kid. A vicious, hell spawn of a ten-year-old, but still a _ten-year-old_.

“We can fly out the window,” Bart whispered to him conspiratorially, and honestly. Jaime knew there was a reason he loved the boy.

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, Jaime/Bart are kind of switchy, though Jaime physically tops more often. Not that that matters with a pushy alien AI and an equally pushy speedster ganging up on him.
> 
> But yeah no this fic started with the porn and then I decided I needed to pay better homage to these characters. Google informs me that "chiquito" is an endearment for guys smaller/shorter than you. Hopefully google did not lie to me!


End file.
